THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


ELSIE  VENNER 


Romance  of  SDestinp 


BY 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 


23 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  M1FFLIN   AND   COMPANY 


MN     1907 


PREFACE. 


THIS  tale  was  published  in  successive  parts  in  the 
"Atlantic  Monthly,"  under  the  name  of  "The  Pro 
fessor's  Story,"  the  first  number  having  appeared  in 
the  third  week  of  December,  1_859.  The  critic  who 
is  curious  in  coincidences  must  refer  to  the  Magazine 
for  the  date  of  publication  of  the  chapter  he  is  exam 
ining. 

In  calling  this  narrative  a  "romance,"  the  Author 
wishes  to  make  sure  of  being  indulged  in  the  com 
mon  privileges  of  the  poetic  license.  Through  all  the 
disguise  of  fiction  a  grave  scientific  doctrine  may  be 
detected  lying  beneath  some  of  the  delineations  of 
character.  He  has  used  this  doctrine  as  a  part  of 
the  machinery  of  his  story  without  pledging  his  abso 
lute  belief  in  it  to  the  extent  to  which  it  is  asserted  or 
implied.  It  was  adopted  as  a  convenient  medium  of 
truth  rather  than  as  an  accepted  scientific  conclusion. 
The  reader  must  judge  for  himself  what  is  the  value  of 
various  stories  cited  from  old  authors-  He  must  de 
cide  how  much  of  what  has  been  told  he  can  accept 
ving  actually  happened,  or  as  possible  and 
more  or  less  probable.  The  Author  must  be  permit 
ted,  however,  to  say  here,  in  his  personal  character, 
and  as  responsible  to  the  students  of  the  human  mind 
tu  d  body,  that  since  this  story  has  been  in  progress  he 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

has  received  the  most  startling  confirmation  of  the 
possibility  of  the  existence  of  a  character  like  that 
which  he  had  drawn  as  a  purely  imaginary  conception 
in  Elsie  Venner. 

BOSTON,  January,  1861. 


A  SECOND  PEEFACE. 


THIS  is  the  story  which  a  dear  old  lady,  my  very 
good  friend,  spoke  of  as  "a  medicated  novel,"  and 
quite  properly  refused  to  read.  I  was  always  pleased 
with  her  discriminating  criticism.  It  is  a  medicated 
novel,  and  if  she  wished  to  read  for  mere  amusement 
and  helpful  recreation  there  was  no  need  of  troubling 
herself  with  a  story  written  with  a  different  end  in 
view. 

This  story  has  called  forth  so  many  curious  inquiries 
that  it  seems  worth  while  to  answer  the  more  impor 
tant  questions  which  have  occurred  to  its  readers. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  not  based  on  any  well-ascer 
tained  physiological  fact.  There  are  old  fables  about 
patients  who  have  barked  like  dogs  or  crowed  like 
cocks,  after  being  bitten  or  wounded  by  those  animals. 
There  is  nothing  impossible  in  the  idea  that  Romulus 
and  Remus  may  have  imbibed  wolfish  traits  of  char 
acter  from  the  wet  nurse  the  legend  assigned  them, 
but  the  legend  is  not  sound  history,  and  the  supposi 
tion  is  nothing  more  than  a  speculative  fancy.  Still, 
there  is  a  limbo  of  curious  evidence  bearing  on  the 
subject  of  j^-njatal_  influences^  sufficient  to  form  the 
starting-point  of  an  imaginative  composition. 

The  real  aim  of  the  story  was  to  test  the  doctrine  of 
"original  sin  "  and  human  responsibility  for  the  disor 
dered  volition  coming  under  that 


X  A   SECOND  PREFACE. 

tion.  Was  Elsie  Venner,  poisoned  by  the  venom  of 
a  crotalus  before  she  was  born,  morally  responsible  for 
the  "volitional"  aberrations,  which  translated  into 
acts  become  what  is  known  as  sin,  and,  it  may  be, 
what  is  punished  as  crime?  If,  on  presentation  of 
the  evidence,  she  becomes  by  the  verdict  of  the  human 
conscience  a  proper  object  of  divine  pity  and  not  of 
divine  wrath,  as  a  subjedToi"  moral  poisoning,  wherein 
lies  the  difference  between  her  position  at  the  bar  of 
judgment,  human  or  divine,  and  that  of  the  unfor 
tunate  victim  who  received  a  moral  poison  from  a 
remote  ancestor  before  he  drew  his  first  breath? 

It  might  be  supposed  that  the  character  of  Elsie  Ven- 
ner  was  suggested  by  some  of  the  fabulous  personages 
of  classical  or  mediaeval  story.  I  remember  that  a 
French  critic  spoke  of  her  as  cette  pauvre  Melusine. 
I  ought  to  have  been  ashamed,  perhaps,  but  I  had  not 
the  slightest  idea  who  Melusina  was  until  I  hunted 
up  the  story,  and  found  that  she  was  a  fairy,  who  for 
some  offence  was  changed  every  Saturday  to  a  serpent 
from  her  waist  downward.  I  was  of  course  familiar 
with  Keats 's  Lamia,  another  imaginary  being,  the 
subject  of  magical  transformation  into  a  serpent.  My 
story  was  well  advanced  before  Hawthorne's  wonder 
ful  "Marble  Faun,"  which  might  be  thought  to  have 
furnished  me  with  the  hint  of  a  mixed  nature,  —  hu 
man,  with  an  alien  element,  —  was  published  or  known 
to  me.  C  So  that  my  poor  heroine  found  her  origin, 
not  in  fable  or  romance,  but  in  a  physiological  concep 
tion  fertilized  by  a  theological  dogma. 

I  had  the  dissatisfaction  of  enjoying  from  a  quiet 
corner  a  well-meant  effort  to  dramatize  "Elsie  Ven- 
ner."  Unfortunately,  a  physiological  romance,  as  I 
knew  beforehand,  is  hardly  adapted  for  the  melodra- 


A   SECOND   PREFACE.  XI 

matic  efforts  of  stage  representation.  I  can  therefore 
say,  with  perfect  truth,  that  I  was  not  disappointed. 
It  is  tojbhe_jnind,  and  not  to  the  senses,  that  such  a 
story  must  appeal,  and  all  attempts  to  render  the 
character  and  events  objective  on  the  stage,  or  to  make 
them  real  by  artistic  illustrations,  are  almost  of  neces 
sity  failures.  The  story  has  won  the  attention  and 
enjoyed  the  favor  of  a  limited  class  of  readers,  and  if 
it  still  continues  to  interest  others  of  the  same  tastes 
and  habits  of  thought  I  can  ask  nothing  more  of  it. 

January  23, 1883. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  NEW  EDITION. 


I  HAVE  nothing  of  importance  to  add  to  the  two  pre 
ceding  Prefaces.  The  continued  call  for  this  story, 
which  was  not  written  for  popularity,  but  with  a  very 
serious  purpose,  has  somewhat  surprised  and,  I  need 
not  add,  gratified  me.  I  can  only  restate  the  motive 
idea  of  the  tale  in  a  little  different  language.  Be 
lieving,  as  I  do,  that  our  prevailing  theologies  are 
founded  upon  an  utterly  false  view  of  the  relation  of 
man  to  his  Creator,  I  attempted  to  illustrate  the  doc 
trine  of  inherited  moral  responsibility  for  other  peo 
ple's  misbehavior.  I  tried  to  make  out  a  case  for  my 
poor  Elsie,  whom  the  most  hardened  theologian  would 
find  it  hard  to  blame  for  her  inherited  ophidian  tastes 
and  tendencies.  How,  then,  is  he  to  blame  mankind 
for  inheriting  "sinfulness"  from  their  first  parents? 
May  not  the  serpent  have  bitten  Eve  before  the  birth 
of  Cain,  her  first-born?  That  would  have  made  an 
excuse  for  Cain's  children,  as  Elsie's  ante-natal  mis 
fortune  made  an  excuse  for  her.  But  what  difference 
does  it  make  in  the  child's  responsibility  whether  his 
inherited  tendencies  come  from  a  snake-bite  or  some 
other  source  which  he  knew  nothing  about  and  could 
not  have  prevented  from  acting?  All  this  is  plain 
enough,  and  the  only  use  of  the  story  is  to  bring  the 
dogma  of  inherited  guilt  and  its  consequences  into  a 
clearer  point  of  view. 


PREFACE   TO   THE   NEW   EDITION.  Xlll 

But,  after  all,  the  tale  must  have  proved  readable 
as  a  story  to  account  for  the  large  number  of  editions 
which  it  has  reached. 

Some  readers  have  been  curious  about  the  locality 
the  writer  was  thought  to  have  in  view.  No  particu 
lar  place  was  intended.  Some  of  the  characters  may 
have  been  thought  to  have  been  drawn  from  life,  but 
the  personages  mentioned  are  mostly  composites,  like 
Mr.  Galton's  compound  photographic  likenesses,  and 
are  not  calculated  to  provoke  scandal  or  suits  for  libel. 

O.  W.  H. 

BEVERLY  FARMS,  MASS.,  August  3,  1891. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  BRAHMIN  CASTE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND         •        .      1 

II.  THE  STUDENT  AND  HIS  CERTIFICATE     ...         7 

HI.  MR.  BERNARD  TREES  HIS  HAND        •        .        ,        ,    22 

IV.  THE  MOTH  FLIES  INTO  THE  CANDLE     ...        41 

,  V.  AN  OLD-FASHIONED  DESCRIPTIVE  CHAPTEB      .       .53 

VI.  THE  SUNBEAM  AND  THE  SHADOW          ...        68 

VII.  THE  EVENT  OF  THE  SEASON 80 

VIII.  THE  MORNING  AFTER 118 

EX..  THE  DOCTOR  ORDERS  THE  BEST  SULKY  (WITH  A  DI 
GRESSION  ON  "HIRED  HELP")    ....      134 

X.  THE  DOCTOR  CALLS  ON  ELSIE  VENNER    .        .        .  139 

XI.  COUSIN  RICHARD'S  VISIT 149 

XII.  THE  APOLLINEAN  INSTITUTE  (WITH  EXTRACTS  FROM 

THE  ''REPORT  OF  THE  COMMITTEE")         .        .      164 

XIII.  CURIOSITY     ..;......  177 

XIV.  FAMILY  SECRETS 192 

XV.  PHYSIOLOGICAL 203 

XVI.  EPISTOLARY 219 

XVII.  OLD  SOPHY  CALLS  ON  THE  REVEREND  DOCTOR        .  233 
XVIII.  THE  REVEREND  DOCTOR  CALLS  ON  BROTHER  FAIR- 
WEATHER       2i 

XIX.  THE  SPIDER  ON  HIS  THREAD 260 

XX.  FROM  WITHOUT  AND  FROM  WITHIK      .        .        .      273 

XXI.  THE  WIDOW  ROWENS  GIVES  A  TEA-PARTY      .        .  285 

XXII.  WHY  DOCTORS  DIFFER 313 

XXIII.  THE  WILD  HUNTSMAN 329 

XXIV.  ON  HIS  TRACKS ^  .        .343 

XXV.  THE  PERILOUS  HOUR  .  .  356 


V 

51 


XVI  CONTENTS. 

XXVI.  THE  NEWS  BEACHES  THE  DUDLEY  MANSION        .      382 

XXVII.  A  SOUL  IN  DISTRESS 401 

XXVIII.   THE  SECRET  is  WHISPERED 412 

XXIX.  THE  WHITE  ASH 438 

XXX.  THE  GOLDEN  CORD  is  LOOSED        ....      449 

XXXI.  MR.  SILAS  PECKHAM  RENDERS  HIS  ACCOUNT    .        .  465 

XXXII.  CONCLUSION  ...     482 


• 
I 


ELSIE  VENNER. 
CHAPTER  I. 

THE  BRAHMIN  CASTE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

THERE  is  nothing  in  New  England  corresponding 
at  all  to  the  feudal  aristocracies  of  the  Old  World. 
Whether  it  be  owing  to  the  stock  from  which  we 
were  derived,  or  to  the  practical  working  of  our  in 
stitutions,  or  to  the  abrogation  of  the  technical  "law 
of  honor,"  which  draws  a  sharp  line  between  the  per 
sonally  responsible  class  of  "gentlemen"  and  the  un 
named  multitude  of  those  who  are  not  expected  to  risk 
their  lives  for  an  abstraction,  — whatever  be  the 
cause,  we  have  no  such  aristocracy  here  as  that  which 
grew  up  out  of  the  military  systems  of  the  Middle 
Ages. 

What  we  mean  by  "aristocracy"  is  merely  the 
richer  part  of  the  community,  that  live  in  the  tallest 
houses,  drive  real  carriages,  (not  "kerridges,  ")  kid- 
glove  their  hands,  and  French-bonnet  their  ladies' 
heads,  give  parties  where  the  persons  who  call  them 
by  the  above  title  are  not  invited,  and  have  a  provok- 
ingly  easy  way  of  dressing,  walking,  talking,  and 
nodding  to  people,  as  if  they  felt  entirely  at  home, 
and  would  not  be  embarrassed  in  the  least,  if  they 
met  the  Governor,  or  even  the  President  of  the 


2  ELSIE    VENNER. 

United  States,  face  to  face.  Some  of  these  great 
folks  are  really  well-bred,  some  of  them  are  only 
purse-proud  and  assuming, — but  they  form  a  clas?, 
and  are  named  as  above  in  the  common  speech. 

It  is  in  the  nature  of  large  fortunes  to  diminish 
rapidly,  when  subdivided  and  distributed.  A  million 
is  the  unit  of  wealth,  now  and  here  in  America.  It 
splits  into  four  handsome  properties;  each  of  these 
into  four  good  inheritances ;  these,  again,  into  scanty 
competences  for  four  ancient  maidens,  —  with  whom 
it  is  best  the  family  should  die  out,  unless  it  can  be 
gin  again  as  its  great-grandfather  did.  Now  a  million 
is  a  kind  of  golden  cheese,  which  represents  in  a  com 
pendious  form  the  summer's  growth  of  a  fat  meadow 
of  craft  or  commerce;  and  as  this  kind  of  meadow 
rarely  bears  more  than  one  crop,  it  is  pretty  certain 
that  sons  and  grandsons  will  not  get  another  golden 
cheese  out  of  it,  whether  they  milk  the  same  cows  or 
turn  in  new  ones.  In  other  words,  the  millionocracy, 
considered  in  a  large  way,  is  not  at  all  an  affair  of 
persons  and  families,  but  a  perpetual  fact  of  money 
with  a  variable  human  element,  which  a  philosopher 
might  leave  out  of  consideration  without  falling  into 
serious  error.  Of  course,  this  trivial  and  fugitive  fact 
of  personal  wealth  "does  not  create  a  permanent  class, 
unless  some  special  means  are  taken  to  arrest  the 
process  of  disintegration  in  the  third  generation. 
This  is  so  rarely  done,  at  least  successfully,  that  one 
need  not  live  a  very  long  life  to  see  most  of  the  rich 
families  he  knew  in  childhood  more  or  less  reduced, 
and  the  millions  shifted  into  the  hands  of  the  country- 
boys  who  were  sweeping  stores  and  carrying  parcels 
when  the  now  decayed  gentry  were  driving  their  char 
iots,  eating  their  venison  over  silver  chafing-dishes, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  3 

drinking  Madeira  chilled  in  embossed  coolers,  wear 
ing  their  hair  in  powder,  and  casing  their  legs  in  long 
boots  with  silken  tassels. 

There  is,  however,  in  New  England,  an  aristocracy, 
if  you  choose  to  call  it  so,  which  has  a  far  greater 
character  of  permanence.  It  has  grown  to  be  a  caste, 
—  not  in  any  odious  sense,  —  but,  by  the  repetition 
of  the  same  influences,  generation  after  generation,  it 
has  acquired  a  distinct  organization  and  physiognomy, 
which  not  to  recognize  is  mere  stupidity,  and  not  to 
be  willing  to  describe  would  show  a  distrust  of  the 
good-nature  and  intelligence  of  our  readers,  who  like 
to  have  us  see  all  we  can  and  tell  all  we  see. 

If  you  will  look  carefully  at  any  class  of  students  in 
one  of  our  colleges,  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  se 
lecting  specimens  of  two  different  aspects  of  youthful 
manhood.  Of  course  I  shall  choose  extreme  cases  to 
illustrate  the  contrast  between  them.  In  the  first,  the 
figure  is  perhaps  robust,  but  often  otherwise,  —  inele 
gant,  partly  from  careless  attitudes,  partly  from  ill- 
dressing,  —  the  face  is  uncouth  in  feature,  or  at  least 
common,  —  the  mouth  coarse  and  unformed,  —  the 
eye  unsympathetic,  even  if  bright,  —  the  movements 
of  the  face  are  clumsy,  like  those  of  the  limbs,  —  the 
voice  is  unmusical,  —  and  the  enunciation  as  if  the 
words  were  coarse  castings,  instead  of  fine  carvings. 
The  youth  of  the  other  aspect  is  commonly  slender,  — 
his  face  is  smooth,  and  apt  to  be  pallid,  —  his  features 
are  regular  and  of  a  certain  delicacy,  —  his  eye  is 
bright  and  quick,  —  his  lips  play  over  the  thought  he 
utters  as  a  pianist's  fingers  dance  over  their  music,  — 
and  his  whole  air,  though  it  may  be  timid,  and  even 
awkward,  has  nothing  clownish.  If  you  are  a  teacher, 
you  know  what  to  expect  from  each  of  these  young 


4  ELSIE   .  ;:NNER. 

men.  With  equal  willingness,  the  first  will  be  slow 
at  learning;  the  second  will  take  to  his  books  as  a 
pointer  or  a  setter  to  his  field-work. 

The  first  youth  is  the  common  country -boy,  whose 
race  has  been  bred  to  bodily  labor.  Nature  has 
adapted  the  family  organization  to  the  kind  of  life  it 
has  lived.  The  hands  and  feet  by  constant  use  have 
got  more  than  their  share  of  development,  —  the  or 
gans  of  thought  and  expression  less  than  their  share. 
The  finer  instincts  are  latent  and  must  be  developed. 
A  youth  of  this  kind  is  raw  material  in  its  first  stage 
of  elaboration.  You  must  not  expect  too  much  of  any 
such.  Many  of  them  have  force  of  will  and  charac 
ter,  and  become  distinguished  in  practical  life;  but 
very  few  of  them  ever  become  great  scholars.  A 
scholar  is,  in  a  large  proportion  of  cases,  the  son  of 
scholars  or  scholarly  persons. 

That  is  exactly  what  the  other  young  man  is.  He 
comes  of  the  Brahmin  caste  of  New  England.  This 
is  the  harmless,  inoffensive,  untitled  aristocracy  re  • 
ferred  to,  and  which  many  readers  will  at  once  ac 
knowledge.  There  are  races  of  scholars  among  us,  in 
which  aptitude  for  learning,  and  all  these  marks  of  it 
I  have  spoken  of,  are  congenital  and  hereditary. 
Their  names  are  always  on  some  college  catalogue  or 
other.  They  break  out  every  generation  or  two  in 
some  learned  labor  which  calls  them  up  after  they 
seem  to  have  died  out.  At  last  some  newer  name 
takes  their  place,  it  maybe,  — but  you  inquire  a  little 
and  you  find  it  is  the  blood  of  the  Edwardses  or  the 
Chauncys  or  the  Ellerys  or  some  of  the  old  historic 
scholars,  disguised  under  the  altered  name  of  a  female 
descendant. 

There  probably  is  not   an  experienced   instructor 


ELSIE   VENNER.  5 

anywhere  in  our  Northern  States  who  will  not  recog 
nize  at  once  the  truth  of  this  general  distinction. 
But  the  reader  who  has  never  been  a  teacher  will  very 
probably  object,  that  some  of  our  most  illustrious  pub 
lic  men  have  come  direct  from  the  homespun-clad  class 
of  the  people,  —  and  he  may,  perhaps,  even  find  a 
noted  scholar  or  two  whose  parents  were  masters  of 
the  English  alphabet,  but  of  110  other. 

It  is  not  fair  to  pit  a  few  chosen  families  against 
the  great  multitude  of  those  who  are  continually  work 
ing  their  way  up  into  the  intellectual  classes.  The 
results  which  are  habitually  reached  by  hereditary 
training  are  occasionally  brought  about  without  it. 
There  are  natural  filters  as  well  as  artificial  ones ;  and 
though  the  great  rivers  are  commonly  more  or  less 
turbid,  if  you  will  look  long  enough,  you  may  find  a 
spring  that  sparkles  as  no  water  does  which  drips 
through  your  apparatus  of  sands  and  sponges.  So 
there  are  families  which  refine  themselves  into  intel 
lectual  aptitude  without  having  had  much  opportunity 
for  intellectual  acquirements.  A  series  of  felicitous 
crosses  develops  an  improved  strain  of  blood,  and 
reaches  its  maximum  perfection  at  last  in  the  large 
uncombed  youth  who  goes  to  college  and  startles  the 
hereditary  class-leaders  by  striding  past  them  all. 
That  is  Nature's  republicanism;  thank  God  for  it, 
but  do  not  let  it  make  you  illogical.  The  race  of  the 
hereditary  scholar  has  exchanged  a  certain  portion  of 
its  animal  vigor  for  its  new  instincts,  and  it  is  hard 
to  lead  men  without  a  good  deal  of  animal  vigor. 
The  scholar  who  comes  by  Nature's  special  grace  from 
an  unworn  stock  of  broad-chested  sires  and  deep-bo 
somed  mothers  must  always  overmatch  an  equal  intel 
ligence  with  a  compromised  and  lowered  vitality.  A 


6  ELSIE   TENNER* 

man's  breathing  and  digestive  apparatus  (one  is 
tempted  to  add  muscular}  are  just  as  important  to 
him  on  the  floor  of  the  Senate  as  his  thinking  organs. 
You  broke  down  in  your  great  speech,  did  you  ?  Yes, 
your  grandfather  had  an  attack  of  dyspepsia  in  '82, 
after  working  too  hard  on  his  famous  Election  Ser 
mon.  All  this  does  not  touch  the  main  fact:  our 
scholars  come  chiefly  from  a  privileged  order,  just  as 
our  best  fruits  come  from  well-known  grafts,  — 
though  now  and  then  a  seedling  apple,  like  the  North 
ern  Spy,  or  a  seedling  pear,  like  the  Seckel,  springs 
from  a  nameless  ancestry  and  grows  to  be  the  pride  of 
all  the  gardens  in  the  land. 

Let  me  introduce  you  to  a  young  man  who  belongs 
to  the  Brahmin  caste  of  New  England. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    STUDENT    AND   HIS    CERTIFICATE. 

BERNARD  C.  LANGDON,  a  young  man  attending 
Medical  Lectures  at  the  school  connected  with  one  of 
our  principal  colleges,  remained  after  the  Lecture  one 
day  and  wished  to  speak  with  the  Professor.  He  was 
a  student  of  mark,  —  first  favorite  of  his  year,  as  they 
say  of  the  Derby  colts.  There  are  in  every  class  half 
a  dozen  bright  faces  to  which  the  teacher  naturally 
directs  his  discourse,  and  by  the  intermediation  of 
whose  attention  he  seems  to  hold  that  of  the  mass  of 
listeners.  Among  these  some  one  is  pretty  sure  to 
take  the  lead,  by  virtue  of  a  personal  magnetism,  or 
some  peculiarity  of  expression,  which  places  the  face 
in  quick  sympathetic  relations  with  the  lecturer. 
This  was  a  young  man  with  such  a  face ;  and  I  found, 
—  for  you  have  guessed  that  I  was  the  "Professor" 
above-mentioned,  —  that,  when  there  was  anything 
difficult  to  be  explained,  or  when  I  was  bringing  out 
some  favorite  illustration  of  a  nice  point,  (as,  for  in 
stance,  when  I  compared  the  cell-growth,  by  which 
Nature  builds  up  a  plant  or  an  animal,  to  the  glass- 
blower's  similar  mode  of  beginning,  — always  with  a 
hollow  sphere,  or  vesicle,  whatever  he  is  going  to 
make,)  I  naturally  looked  in  his  face  and  gauged  my 
success  by  its  expression. 

It  was  a  handsome  face,  —  a  little  too  pale,  per 
haps,  and  would  have  borne  something  more  of  fulness 


8  ELSIE   VENNER. 

without  becoming  heavy.  I  put  the  organization  to 
which  it  belongs  in  Section  B  of  Class  1  of  my  Anglo* 
American  Anthropology  (unpublished).  The  jaw  in 
this  section  is  but  slightly  narrowed,  — just  enough  to 
make  the  width  of  the  forehead  tell  more  decidedly. 
The  moustache  often  grows  vigorously,  but  the  whis 
kers  are  thin.  The  skin  is  like  that  of  Jacob,  rather 
than  like  Esau's.  One  string  of  the  animal  nature 
has  been  taken  away,  but  this  gives  only  a  greater 
predominance  to  the  intellectual  chords.  To  see  just 
how  the  vital  energy  has  been  toned  down,  you  must 
contrast  one  of  this  section  with  a  specimen  of  Section 
A  of  the  same  class,  —  say,  for  instance,  one  of  the 
old-fashioned,  full-whiskered,  red-faced,  roaring,  big 
Commodores  of  the  last  generation,  whom  you  remem 
ber,  at  least  by  their  portraits,  in  ruffled  shirts,  look 
ing  as  hearty  as  butchers  and  as  plucky  as  bull-ter 
riers,  with  their  hair  combed  straight  up  from  their 
foreheads,  which  were  not  commonly  very  high  or 
broad.  The  special  form  of  physical  life  I  have  been 
describing  gives  you  a  right  to  expect  more  delicate 
perceptions  and  a  more  reflective  nature  than  you 
commonly  find  in  shaggy -throated  men,  clad  in  heavy 
suits  of  muscles. 

The  student  lingered  in  the  lecture-room,  looking 
all  the  time  as  if  he  wanted  to  say  something  in  pri 
vate,  and  waiting  for  two  or  three  others,  who  were 
still  hanging  about,  to  be  gone. 

Something  is  wrong !  —  I  said  to  myself,  when  I  no 
ticed  his  expression.  — Well,  Mr.  Langdon,  — I  said 
to  him,  when  we  were  alone,  —  can  I  do  anything  for 
you  to-day? 

You  can,  Sir,  — he  said.  — I  am  going  to  leave  the 
class,  for  the  present,  and  keep  school. 


ELSIE   VENNER. 

Why,  that's  a  pity,  and  you  so  near  graduating! 
Vou  'd  better  stay  and  finish  this  course  and  take  your 
degree  in  the  spring,  rather  than  break  up  your  whole 
plan  of  study. 

I  can't  help  myself,  Sir,  —  the  young  man  an 
swered.  —  There  's  trouble  at  home,  and  they  cannot 
keep  me  here  as  they  have  done.  So  I  must  look  out 
for  myself  for  a  while.  It 's  what  I  've  done  before, 
and  am  ready  to  do  again.  I  came  to  ask  you  for  a 
certificate  of  my  fitness  to  teach  a  common  school,  or 
a  high  school,  if  you  think  I  am  up  to  that.  Are  you 
willing  to  give  it  to  me  ? 

Willing  ?  Yes,  to  be  sure,  —  but  I  don't  want  you 
to  go.  Stay;  we '11  make  it  easy  for  you.  There 's  a 
fund  will  do  something  for  you,  perhaps.  Then  you 
can  take  both  the  annual  prizes,  if  you  like,  — and 
claim  them  in  money,  if  you  want  that  more  than 
medals. 

I  have  thought  it  all  over, — he  answered,  —  and 
have  pretty  much  made  up  my  mind  to  go. 

A  perfectly  gentlemanly  young  man,  of  courteous 
address  and  mild  utterance,  but  means  at  least  as 
much  as  he  says.  There  are  some  people  whose  rhet- 
oric  consists  of  a  slight  habitual  under-statement.  I  jS 
often  tell  Mrs.  Professor  that  one  of  her  "I  think  it 's 
sos "is  worth  the  Bible-oath  of  all  the  rest  of  the 
household  that  they  "know  it 's  so."  When  you  find 
a  person  a  little  better  than  his  word,  a  little  more 
liberal  than  his  promise,  a  little  more  than  borne  out 
in  his  statement  by  his  facts,  a  little  larger  in  deed 
than  in  speech,  you  recognize  a  kind  of  eloquence  in 
that  person's  utterance  not  laid  down  in  Blair  or 
Campbell. 

This  was  a  proud  fellow,   self -trusting,  sensitive, 


ELSIE   VENNER. 

with  family -recollections  that  made  him  unwilling  to 
accept  the  kind  of  aid  which  many  students  would 
have  thankfully  welcomed.  I  knew  him  too  well  to 
urge  him,  after  the  few  words  which  implied  that  he 
was  determined  to  go.  Besides,  I  have  great  con 
fidence  in  young  men  who  believe  in  themselves,  and 
are  accustomed  to  rely  on  their  own  resources  from 
an  early  period.  When  a  resolute  young  fellow  steps 
up  to  the  great  bully,  the  World,  and  takes  him 
boldly  by  the  beard,  he  is  often  surprised  to  find  it 
come  off  in  his  hand,  and  that  it  was  only  tied  on  to 
scare  away  timid  adventurers.  I  have  seen  young 
men  more  than  once,  who  came  to  a  great  city  with 
out  a  single  friend,  support  themselves  and  pay  for 
their  education,  lay  up  money  in  a  few  years,  grow 
rich  enough  to  travel,  and  establish  themselves  in  life, 
without  ever  asking  a  dollar  of  any  person  which  they 
had  not  earned.  But  these  are  exceptional  cases. 
There  are  horse-tamers,  born  so,  as  we  all  know; 
there  are  woman -tamers  who  bewitch  the  sex  as  the 
pied  piper  bedeviled  the  children  of  Hamelin;  and 
there  are  world-tamers,  who  can  make  any  commu 
nity,  even  a  Yankee  one,  get  down  and  let  them  jump 
on  its  back  as  easily  as  Mr.  Rarey  saddled  Cruiser. 

Whether  Langdon  was  of  this  sort  or  not  I  could 
not  say  positively ;  but  he  had  spirit,  and,  as  I  have 
said,  a  family -pride  which  would  not  let  him  be  de 
pendent.  The  New  England  Brahmin  caste  often 
gets  blended  with  connections  of  political  influence  or 
commercial  distinction.  It  is  a  charming  thing  for 
the  scholar,  when  his  fortune  carries  him  in  this  way 
into  some  of  the  "old  families"  who  have  fine  old 
houses,  and  city -lots  that  have  risen  in  the  market, 
and  names  written  in  all  the  stock-books  of  all  the 


ELSIE   VENNER.  11 

dividend-paying  companies.  His  narrow  study  ex 
pands  into  a  stately  library,  his  books  are  counted  by 
thousands  instead  of  hundreds,  and  his  favorites  are 
dressed  in  gilded  calf  in  place  of  plebeian  sheepskin 
or  its  pauper  substitutes  of  cloth  and  paper. 

The  Reverend  Jedediah  Langdon,  grandfather  of 
our  young  gentleman,  had  made  an  advantageous  alli 
ance  of  this  kind.  Miss  Dorothea  Wentworth  had 
read  one  of  his  sermons  which  had  been  printed  "by 
request,"  and  became  deeply  interested  in  the  young 
author,  whom  she  had  never  seen.  Out  of  this  cir 
cumstance  grew  a  correspondence,  an  interview,  a 
declaration,  a  matrimonial  alliance,  and  a  family  of 
half  a  dozen  children.  Wentworth  Langdon,  Es 
quire,  was  the  oldest  of  these,  and  lived  in  the  old 
family -mansion.  Unfortunately,  that  principle  of  the 
diminution  of  estates  by  division,  to  which  I  have  re 
ferred,  rendered  it  somewhat  difficult  to  maintain  the 
establishment  upon  the  fractional  income  which  the 
proprietor  received  from  his  share  of  the  property. 
Wentworth  Langdon,  Esq.,  represented  a  certain  in 
termediate  condition  of  life  not  at  all  infrequent  in 
our  old  families.  He  was  the  connecting  link  between 
the  generation  which  lived  in  ease,  and  even  a  kind  of 
state,  upon  its  own  resources,  and  the  new  brood, 
which  must  live  mainly  by  its  wits  or  industry,  and 
make  itself  rich,  or  shabbily  subside  into  that  lower 
stratum  known  to  social  geologists  by  a  deposit  of 
Kidderminster  carpets  and  the  peculiar  aspect  of  the 
fossils  constituting  the  family  furniture  and  wardrobe. 
This  slack-water  period  of  a  race,  which  comes  before 
the  rapid  ebb  of  its  prosperity,  is  familiar  to  all  who 
live  in  cities.  There  are  no  more  quiet,  inoffensive 
people  than  these  children  of  rich  families,  just  above 


12  ELSIE   VENNER. 

the  necessity  of  active  employment,  yet  not  in  a  con 
dition  to  place  their  own  children  advantageously,  if 
they  happen  to  have  families.  Many  of  them  are 
content  to  live  unmarried.  Some  mend  their  broken 
fortunes  by  prudent  alliances,  and  some  leave  a  nu 
merous  progeny  to  pass  into  the  obscurity  from  which 
their  ancestors  emerged ;  so  that  you  may  see  on  hand 
carts  and  cobblers'  stalls  names  which,  a  few  genera 
tions  back,  were  upon  parchments  with  broad  seals, 
and  tombstones  with  armorial  bearings. 

In  a  large  city,  this  class  of  citizens  is  familiar  to 
us  in  the  streets.  They  are  very  courteous  in  their 
salutations ;  they  have  time  enough  to  bow  and  take 
their  hats  off,  —  which,  of  course,  no  business-man 
can  afford  to  do.  Their  beavers  are  smoothly 
brushed,  and  their  boots  well  polished ;  all  their  ap 
pointments  are  tidy ;  they  look  the  respectable  walk 
ing  gentleman  to  perfection.  They  are  prone  to  hab 
its,  —  they  frequent  reading-rooms,  insurance-offices, 
—  they  walk  the  same  streets  at  the  same  hours,  —  so 
that  one  becomes  familiar  with  their  faces  and  per 
sons,  as  a  part  of  the  street -furniture. 

There  is  one  curious  circumstance,  that  all  city- 
people  must  have  noticed,  which  is  often  illustrated 
in  our  experience  of  the  slack-water  gentry.  We 
shall  know  a  certain  person  by  his  looks,  familiarly, 
for  years,  but  never  have  learned  his  name.  About 
this  person  we  shall  have  accumulated  no  little  cir 
cumstantial  knowledge ;  —  thus,  his  face,  figure,  gait, 
his  mode  of  dressing,  of  saluting,  perhaps  even  of 
speaking,  may  be  familiar  to  us;  yet  who  he  is  we 
know  not.  In  another  department  of  our  conscious 
ness,  there  is  a  very  familiar  name,  which  we  have 
never  found  the  person  to  match.  We  have  heard  it 


ELSIE   VENNER.  13 

so  often,  that  it  has  idealized  itself,  and  become  one 
of  that  multitude  of  permanent  shapes  which  walk  the 
chambers  of  the  brain  in  velvet  slippers  in  the  com 
pany  of  Falstaff  and  Hamlet  and  General  Washing 
ton  and  Mr.  Pickwick.  Sometimes  the  person  dies, 
but  the  name  lives  on  indefinitely.  But  now  and  then 
it  happens,  perhaps  after  years  of  this  independent 
existence  of  the  name  and  its  shadowy  image  in  the 
brain,  on  the  one  part,  and  the  person  and  all  its  real 
attributes,  as  we  see  them  daily,  on  the  other,  that 
some  accident  reveals  their  relation,  and  we  find  the 
name  we  have  carried  so  long  in  our  memory  belongs 
to  the  person  we  have  known  so  long  as  a  fellow-citi- 
•zen.  Now  the  slack -water  gentry  are  among  the 
persons  most  likely  to  be  the  subjects  of  this  curious 
divorce  of  title  and  reality,  —  for  the  reason,  that, 
playing  no  important  part  in  the  community,  there  is 
nothing  to  tie  the  floating  name  to  the  actual  individ 
ual,  as  is  the  case  with  the  men  who  belong  in  any 
way  to  the  public,  while  yet  their  names  have  a  cer 
tain  historical  currency,  and  we  cannot  help  meeting 
them,  either  in  their  haunts,  or  going  to  and  from 
them. 

To  this  class  belonged  Wentworth  Langdon,  Esq. 
He  had  been  "dead-headed  "  into  the  world  some  fifty 
years  ago,  and  had  sat  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
staring  at  the  show  ever  since.  I  shall  not  tell  you, 
for  reasons  before  hinted,  the  whole  name  of  the  place 
in  which  he  lived.  I  will  only  point  you  in  the  right 
direction,  by  saying  that  there  are  three  towns  lying 
in  a  line  with  each  other,  as  you  go  "down  East," 
each  of  them  with  a  Port  in  its  name,  and  each  of 
them  having  a  peculiar  interest  which  gives  it  individ- 

dity,  in  addition  to  the  Oriental  character  they  have 


14  ELSIE  VENNER. 

in  common.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  these  towns  are 
Newburyport,  Portsmouth,  and  Portland.  The  Ori 
ental  character  they  have  in  common  consists  in  their 
large,  square,  palatial  mansions,  with  sunny  gardens 
round  them.  The  two  first  have  seen  better  days. 
They  are  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  condition  of 
weakened,  but  not  impoverished,  gentility.  Each  of 
them  is  a  "paradise  of  demi-fortunes."  Each  of  them 
is  of  that  intermediate  size  between  a  village  and  a 
city  which  any  place  has  outgrown  when  the  presence 
of  a  well-dressed  stranger  walking  up  and  down  the 
main  street  ceases  to  be  a  matter  of  public  curiosity 
-and  private  speculation,  as  frequently  happens,  dur 
ing  the  busier  months  of  the  year,  in  considerable 
commercial  centres  like  Salem.  They  both  have 
grand  old  recollections  to  fall  back  upon,  —  times 
when  they  looked  forward  to  commercial  greatness, 
and  when  the  portly  gentlemen  in  cocked  hats,  who 
built  their  now  decaying  wharves  and  sent  out  their 
ships  all  over  the  world,  dreamed  that  their  fast- 
growing  port  was  to  be  the  Tyre  or  the  Carthage  of 
the  rich  British  Colony.  Great  houses,  like  that  once 
lived  in  by  Lord  Timothy  Dexter,  in  Newburyport, 
remain  as  evidence  of  the  fortunes  amassed  in  these 
places  of  old.  Other  mansions  —  like  the  Rocking- 
ham  House  in  Portsmouth  (look  at  the  white  horse's 
tail  before  you  mount  the  broad  staircase)  —  show 
that  there  was  not  only  wealth,  but  style  and  state,  in 
these  quiet  old  towns  during  the  last  century.  It  is 
not  with  any  thought  of  pity  or  depreciation  that  we 
speak  of  them  as  in  a  certain  sense  decayed  towns; 
they  did  not  fulfil  their  early  promise  of  expansion, 
but  they  remain  incomparably  the  most  interesting 
places  of  their  size  in  any  of  the  three  fltu'thernmosl 


ELSIE   VENNER.  15 

New  England  States.  They  have  even  now  prosper 
ity  enough  to  keep  them  in  good  condition,  and  offer 
the  most  attractive  residences  for  quiet  families, 
which,  if  they  had  been  English,  would  have  lived  in 
a  palazzo  at  Genoa  or  Pisa,  or  some  other  Continental 
Newburyport  or  Portsmouth. 

As  for  the  last  of  the  three  Ports,  or  Portland,  it  is 
getting  too  prosperous  to  be  as  attractive  as  its  less 
northerly  neighbors.  Meant  for  a  fine  old  town,  to 
ripen  like  a  Cheshire  cheese  within  its  walls  of  an 
cient  rind,  burrowed  by  crooked  alleys  and  mottled 
with  venerable  mould,  it  seems  likely  to  sacrifice  its 
mellow  future  to  a  vulgar  material  prosperity.  Still 
Jt  remains  invested  with  many  of  its  old  charms,  as 
yet,  and  will  forfeit  its  place  among  this  admirable 
Srio  only  when  it  gets  a  hotel  with  unequivocal  marks 
of  having  been  built  and  organized  in  the  present 
century. 

-—It  was  one  of  the  old  square  palaces  of  the 
North,  in  which  Bernard  Langdon,  the  son  of  Went- 
worth,  was  born.  If  he  had  had  the  luck  to  be  an 
only  child,  he  might  have  lived  as  his  father  had  done, 
letting  his  meagre  competence  smoulder  on  almost 
without  consuming,  like  the  fuel  in  an  air-tight  stove. 
But  after  Master  Bernard  came  Miss  Dorothea  Eliza 
beth  Wentworth  Langdon,  and  then  Master  William 
Pepperell  Langdon,  and  others,  equally  well  named, 
—  a  string  of  them,  looking,  when  they  stood  in  a  row 
in  prayer-time,  as  if  they  would  fit  a  set  of  Pandean 
pipes,  of  from  three  feet  upward  in  dimensions.  The 
door  of  the  air-tight  stove  has  to  be  opened,  under 
such  circumstances,  you  may  well  suppose!  So  it 
happened  that  our  young  man  had  been  obliged,  from 
an  early  period,  to  do  something  to  support  himself, 


16  ELSIE   VENNER. 

and  found  himself  stopped  short  in  his  studies  by  the 
inability  of  the  good  people  at  home  to  furnish  him 
the  present  means  of  support  as  a  student. 

You  will  understand  now  why  the  young  man 
wanted  me  to  give  him  a  certificate  of  his  fitness  to 
teach,  and  why  I  did  not  choose  to  urge  him  to  accept 
the  aid  which  a  meek  country-boy  from  a  family 
without  ante-Revolutionary  recollections  would  have 
thankfully  received.  Go  he  must,  —  that  was  plain 
enough.  He  would  not  be  content  otherwise.  He 
was  not,  however,  to  give  up  his  studies;  and  as  it  is 
customary  to  allow  half-time  to  students  engaged  in 
school-keeping,  —  that  is,  to  count  a  year,  so  em 
ployed,  if  the  student  also  keep  on  with  his  profes 
sional  studies,  as  equal  to  six  months  of  the  three  years 
he  is  expected  to  be  under  an  instructor  before  apply 
ing  for  his  degree,  —  he  would  not  necessarily  lose 
more  than  a  few  months  of  time.  He  had  a  small 
library  of  professional  books,  which  he  could  take 
with  him. 

So  he  left  my  teaching  and  that  of  my  estimable 
colleagues,  carrying  with  him  my  certificate,  that  Mr. 
Bernard  C.  Langdon  was  a  young  gentleman  of  excel 
lent  moral  character,  of  high  intelligence  and  good 
education,  and  that  his  services  would  be  of  great 
value  in  any  school,  academy,  or  other  institution, 
where  young  persons  of  either  sex  were  to  be  in 
structed. 

I  confess,  that  expression,  "either  sex,"  ran  a  lit 
tle  thick,  as  I  may  say,  from  my  pen.  For,  although 
the  young  man  bore  a  very  fair  character,  and  there 
was  no  special  cause  for  doubting  his  discretion,  I 
considered  him  altogether  too  good-looking,  in  the  first 
place,  to  be  let  loose  in  a  roomful  of  young  girls. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  17 

I  didn't  want  him  to  fall  in  love  just  then  —  and  if 
half  a  dozen  girls  fell  in  love  with  him,  as  they  most 
assuredly  would,  if  brought  into  too  near  relations 
with  him,  why,  there  was  no  telling  what  gratitude 
and  natural  sensibility  might  bring  about. 

Certificates  are,  for  the  most  part,  like  ostrich- 
eggs;  the  giver  never  knows  what  is  hatched  out  of 
them.  But  once  in  a  thousand  times  they  act  as 
curses  are  said  to,  —  come  home  to  roost.  Give  them 
often  enough,  until  it  gets  to  be  a  mechanical  busi 
ness,  and,  some  day  or  other,  you  will  get  caught 
warranting  somebody's  ice  not  to  melt  in  any  climate, 
or  somebody's  razors  to  be  safe  in  the  hands  of  the 
youngest  children. 

I  had  an  uneasy  feeling,  after  giving  this  certificate. 
It  might  be  all  right  enough ;  but  if  it  happened  to  end 
badly,  I  should  always  reproach  myself.  There  was 
a  chance,  certainly,  that  it  would  lead  him  or  others 
into  danger  or  wretchedness.  Any  one  who  looked  at 
this  young  man  could  not  fail  to  see  that  he  was  capa 
ble  of  fascinating  and  being  fascinated.  Those  large, 
dark  eyes  of  his  would  sink  into  the  white  soul  of  a 
young  girl  as  the  black  cloth  sunk  into  the  snow  in 
Franklin's  famous  experiment.  Or,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  the  rays  of  a  passionate  nature  should  ever  be 
concentrated  on  them,  they  would  be  absorbed  into 
the  very  depths  of  his  nature,  and  then  his  blood  would 
turn  to  flame  and  burn  his  life  out  of  him,  until  his 
cheeks  grew  as  white  as  the  ashes  that  cover  a  burn 
ing  coal. 

I  wish  I  had  not  said  either  sex  in  my  certificate. 
An  academy  for  young  gentlemen,  now ;  that  sounds 
cool  and  unimaginative.  A  boys'  school,  that  would 
be  a  very  good  place  for  him ;  —  some  of  them  are 


18  ELSIE   VENNER. 

pretty  rough,  but  there  is  nerve  enough  in  that  old 
Wentworth  strain  of  blood;  he  can  give  any  country 
fellow,  of  the  common  stock,  twenty  pounds,  and  hit 
him  out  of  time  in  ten  minutes.  But  to  send  such  a 
young  fellow  as  that  out  a  girl's-nesting!  to  give  this 
falcon  a  free  pass  into  all  the  dove-cotes  I  I  was  a 
fool,  —  that 's  all. 

I  brooded  over  the  mischief  which  might  come  out 
of  these  two  words  until  it  seemed  to  me  that  they 
were  charged  with  destiny.  I  could  hardly  sleep  for 
thinking  what  a  train  I  might  have  been  laying,  which 
might  take  a  spark  any  day,  and  blow  up  nobody 
knows  whose  peace  or  prospects.  What  I  dreaded 
most  was  one  of  those  miserable  matrimonial  misalli 
ances  where  a  young  fellow  who  does  not  know  him 
self  as  yet  flings  his  magnificent  future  into  the 
checked  apron-lap  of  some  fresh-faced,  half-bred  coun 
try-girl,  no  more  fit  to  be  mated  with  him  than  her 
father's  horse  to  go  in  double  harness  with  Flora  Tem 
ple.  To  think  of  the  eagle's  wings  being  clipped  so 
that  he  shall  never  lift  himself  over  the  farm-yard 
fence !  Such  things  happen,  and  always  must,  —  be 
cause,  as  one  of  us  said  awhile  ago,  a  man  always 
loves  a  woman,  and  a  woman  a  man,  unless  some  good 
reason  exists  to  the  contrary.  You  think  yourself 
a  very  fastidious  young  man,  my  friend;  but  there 
are  probably  at  least  five  thousand  young  women  in 
these  United  States,  any  one  of  whom  you  would 
certainly  marry,  if  you  were  thrown  much  into  her 
company,  and  nobody  more  attractive  were  near,  and 
she  had  no  objection.  And  you,  my  dear  young 
lady,  justly  pride  yourself  on  your  discerning  deli 
cacy;  but  if  I  should  say  that  there  are  twenty  thou 
sand  young  men.  any  one  of  v/hom,  if  he  offered  hia 


ELSIE   VENNER.  19 

hand  and  heart  under  favorable  circumstances,  you 
would 

"  First  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace," 

I  should  be  much  more  imprudent  than  I  mean  to  be, 
and  you  would,  no  doubt,  throw  down  a  story  in  which 
I  hope  to  interest  you. 

I  had  settled  it  in  my  mind  that  this  young  fellow 
had  a  career  marked  out  for  him.  He  should  begin 
in  the  natural  way,  by  taking  care  of  poor  patients  in 
one  of  the  public  charities,  and  work  his  way  up  to  a 
better  kind  of  practice,  —  better,  that  is,  in  the  vul 
gar,  worldly  sense.  (  The  great  and  good  Boerhaave 
used  to  say,  as  I  remember  very  well,  that  the  poor 
were  his  best  patients ;  for  God  was  their  paymaster. 
But  everybody  is  not  as  patient  as  Boerhaave,  nor  as 
deserving;  so  that  the  rich,  though  not,  perhaps,  the 
best  patients,  are  good  enough  for  common  practition 
ers.  I  suppose  Boerhaave  put  up  with  them  when  he 
could  not  get  poor  ones,  as  he  left  his  daughter  two 
millions  of  florins  when  he  died. 

Now  if  this  young  man  once  got  into  the  wide 
streets,  ha  would  sweep  them  clear  of  his  rivals  of  the 
same  standing ;  and  as  I  was  getting  indifferent  to  busi 
ness,  and  old  Dr.  Kilham  was  growing  careless,  and 
had  once  or  twice  prescribed  morphine  when  he  meant 
quinine,  there  would  soon  be  an  opening  into  the 
Doctor's  Paradise,  — the  streets  with  only  one  side  to 
them.  Then  I  would  have  him  strike  a  bold  stroke, 
—  set  up  a  nice  little  coach,  and  be  driven  round  like 
a  first-class  London  doctor,  instead  of  coasting  about 
in  a  shabby  one-horse  concern  and  casting  anchor 
opposite  his  patients'  doors  like  a  Cape  Ann  fishing- 
smack.  By  the  time  he  was  thirty,  he  would  have 
knocked  the  social  pawns  out  of  his  way,  and  be  ready 


20  ELSIE   VENNER. 

to  challenge  a  wife  from  the  row  of  great  pieces  in  the 
background.  I  would  not  have  a  man  marry  above 
his  level,  so  as  to  become  the  appendage  of  a  powerful 
family -connection ;  but  I  would  not  have  him  marry 
until  he  knew  his  level,  —  that  is,  again,  looking  at 
the  matter  in  a  purely  worldly  point  of  view,  and  not 
taking  the  sentiments  at  all  into  consideration.  But 

o 

remember,  that  a  young  man,  using  large  endowments 
wisely  and  fortunately,  may  put  himself  on  a  level 
with  the  highest  in  the  land  in  ten  brilliant  years  of 
spirited,  unflagging  labor.  And  to  stand  at  the  very 
top  of  your  calling  in  a  great  city  is  something  in  it 
self, —  that  is,  if  you  like  money,  and  influence,  and  a 
seat  on  the  platform  at  public  lectures,  and  gratuitous 
tickets  to  all  sorts  of  places  where  you  don't  want  to 
go,  and,  what  is  a  good  deal  better  than  any  of  these 
things,  a  sense  of  power,  limited,  it  may  be,  but  ab 
solute  in  its  range,  so  that  all  the  Caesars  and  Napole 
ons  would  have  to  stand  aside,  if  they  came  between 
you  and  the  exercise  of  your  special  vocation. 

That  is  what  I  thought  this  young  fellow  might 
have  come  to ;  and  now  I  have  let  him  go  off  into  the 
country  with  my  certificate,  that  he  is  fit  to  teach  in 
a  school  for  either  sex !  Ten  to  one  he  will  run  like 
a  moth  into  a  candle,  right  into  one  of  those  girls '- 
nests,  and  get  tangled  up  in  some  sentimental  folly  or 
other,  and  there  will  be  the  end  of  him.  Oh,  yes! 
country  doctor,  —  half  a  dollar  a  visit,  —  drive,  drive, 
drive  all  day,  —  get  up  at  night  and  harness  your  own 
horse,  —  drive  again  ten  miles  in  a  snow-storm,  — 
shake  powders  out  of  two  phials,  (pulv.  glycyrrhiz.^ 
pulv.  gum.  acac.  aa  paries  equales,} —  drive  back 
again,  if  you  don't  happen  to  get  stuck  in  a  drift,  — • 
no  home,  no  peace,  no  continuous  meals,  no  unbroken 


ELSIE    VENNEK.  zi 

sleep,  no  Sunday,  no  holiday,  no  social  intercourse, 
but  one  eternal  jog,  jog,  jog,  in  a  sulky,  until  you 
feel  like  the  mummy  of  an  Indian  who  had  been  bur 
ied  in  the  sitting  posture,  and  was  dug  up  a  hundred 
years  afterwards!  Why  didn't  I  warn  him  about 
love  and  all  that  nonsense?  Why  didn't  I  tell  him 
he  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  yet  awhile?  Why 
did  n't  I  hold  up  to  him  those  awful  examples  I  could 
have  cited,  where  poor  young  fellows  who  could  just 
keep  themselves  afloat  have  hung  a  matrimonial  mill 
stone  round  their  necks,  taking  it  for  a  life-preserver  ? 
All  this  of  two  words  in  a  certificate ! 


CHAPTER  HI. 

MR.    BERNARD  TRIES   HIS   HAND. 

WHETHER  the  Student  advertised  for  a  school,  or 
whether  he  fell  in  with  the  advertisement  of  a  school- 
committee,  is  not  certain.  ( At  any  rate,  it  was  not 
long  before  he  found  himself  the  head  of  a  large  dis 
trict,  or,  as  it  was  called  by  the  inhabitants,  "dees- 
trie  "  school,  in  the  flourishing  inland  village  of  Pe- 
quawkett,  or,  as  it  is  commonly  spelt,  Pigwacket 
Centre.  The  natives  of  this  place  would  be  sur 
prised,  if  they  should  hear  that  any  of  the  readers  of 
a  work  published  in  Boston  were  unacquainted  with  so 
remarkable  a  locality.  As,  however,  some  copies  of 
it  may  be  read  at  a  distance  from  this  distinguished 
metropolis,  it  may  be  well  to  give  a  few  particulars 
respecting  the  place,  taken  from  the  Universal  Gazet 
teer. 

"  PIGWACKET,  sometimes  spelt  Pequawkett.  A  post- 
village  and  township  in Co.,  State  of ,  situated  in 

a  fine  agricultural  region,  2  thriving  villages,  Pigwacket 
Centre  and  Smithville,  3  churches,  several  school  houses,  and 
many  handsome  private  residences.  Mink^  River  runs 
through  the  town,  navigable  for  small  boats  after  heavy  rains. 
Muddy  Pond  at  N.  E.  section,  well  stocked  with  horn  pouts, 
eels,  and  shiners.  Products,  beef,  pork,  butter,  cheese.  Manu 
factures,  shoe-pegs,  clothes-pins,  and  tin-ware.  Pop.  1373." 

The  reader  may  think  there  is  nothing  very  re 
markable  implied  in  this  description.  If,  however, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  23 

he  had  read  the  town-history,  by  the  Rev.  Jabez 
Grubb,  he  would  have  learned,  that,  like  the  cele 
brated  Little  Pedlington,  it  was  distinguished  by 
many  very  remarkable  advantages.  Thus :  — 

"  The  situation  of  Pigwacket  is  eminently  beautiful,  look 
ing  down  the  lovely  valley  of  Mink  River,  a  tributary  of  the 
Musquash.  .The  air  is  salubrious,  and  many  of  the  inhabit 
ants  have  attained  great  age,  several,  having  passed  the 
allotted  period  of  '  three-score  years  and  ten '  before  suc 
cumbing  to  any  of  the  various  '  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to.' 
Widow  Comfort  Leevins  died  in  1836,  Mt.  LXXXVII. 
years.  Venus,  an  African,  died  in  1841,  supposed  -to  be  C. 
years  old.  The  people  are  distinguished  for  intelligence,  as 
has  bt  •  >equently  remarked  by  eminent  lyceum-lecturers, 
who  ht  ivariably  spoken  in  the  highest  terms  of  a  Pig 
wacket  ience.  There  is  a  public  library,  containing 
nearly  a  idred  volumes,  free  to  all  subscribers.  The 
preached  \  is  well  attended,  there  is  a  flourishing  temper 
ance  socie»  d  the  schools  are  excellent.  It  is  a  residence 
admirably  i  ed  to  refined  families  who  relish  the  beauties 
of  Nature  ai  .,.16  charms  of  society.  The  Honorable  John 
Smith,  formerly  a  member  of  the  State  Senate,  was  a  native 
of  this  tows." 

Tha1-  is  the  way  they  all  talk.  After  all,  it  is 
probe  pretty  much  like  other  inland  New  England 
town  point  of  "salubrity,"  —  that  is,  gives  people 
thei  jice  of  dysentery  or  fever  every  autumn,  with 
a  f  n-ticket  for  consumption,  good  all  the  year 
ro  And  so  of  the  other  pretences.  "Pigwacket 

a  ice,"  forsooth!  Was  there  ever  an  audience 
:  here,  though  there  wasn't  a  pair  of  eyes  in  it 
ater  than  pickled  oysters,  that  did  n't  think  it  was 

stinguished  for  intelligence"? — "The  preached 
word"!  That  means  the  Rev.  Jabez  Grubb's  ser- 


24  ELSIE   VENNER. 

mons.     "  Temperance  society  " !    "  Excellent  schools  " ! 
Ah,  that  is  just  what  we  were  talking  about. 

The  truth  was,  that  District  No.  1,  Pigwacket 
Centre,  had  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  of  late  with  its 
schoolmasters.  The  committee  had  done  their  best, 
but  there  were  a  number  of  well-grown  and  pretty 
rough  young  fellows  who  had  got  the  upperhand  of 
the  masters,  and  meant  to  keep  it.  Two  dynasties 
had  fallen  before  the  uprising  of  this  fierce  democracy. 
This  was  a  thing  that  used  to  be  not  very  uncom 
mon;  but  in  so  "intelligent"  a  community  as  that  of 
Pigwacket  Centre,  in  an  era  of  public  libraries  and 
lyceum-lectures,  it  was  portentous  and  alarming. 

The  rebellion  began  under  the  ferule  of  Master 
Weeks,  a  slender  youth  from  a  country  college,  under 
fed,  thin-blooded,  sloping-shouldered,  knock-kneed, 
straight-haired,  weak-bearded,  pale-eyed,  wide-pu- 
pilled,  half -colored ;  a  common  type  enoiir"h  in  in -door 
races,  not  rich  enough  to  pick  and  cho  in  their  al 
liances.  Nature  kills  off  a  good  many  his  sort  in 
the  first  teething-time,  a  few  in  later  chili  >d,  a  good 
many  again  in  early  adolescence ;  but  e\  now  and 
then  one  runs  the  gauntlet  of  her  various  ^ases,  or 
rather  forms  of  one  disease,  and  grows  up,  Master 
Weeks  had  done. 

It  was  a  very  foolish  thing  for  him  to  try  :nflict 
personal  punishment  on  such  a  lusty  young  -  w  as 
Abner  Briggs,  Junior,  one  of  the  "hardest  oust  .o-s  " 
in  the  way  of  a  rough-and-tumble  fight  that  thare 
were  anywhere  round.  No  doubt  he  had  been  iroo- 
lent,  but  it  would  have  been  better  to  overlook  it. 
It  pains  me  to  report  the  events  which  took  piice 
when  the  master  made  his  rash  attempt  to  maintan 
his  authority.  Abner  Briggs,  Junior,  was  a  great, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  25 

hulking  fellow,  who  had  been  bred  to  butchering, 
but  urged  by  his  parents  to  attend  school,  in  order  to 
learn  the  elegant  accomplishments  of  reading  and  writ 
ing,  in  which  he  was  sadly  deficient.  He  was  in  the 
habit  of  talking  and  laughing  pretty  loud  in  school- 
hours,  of  throwing  wads  of  paper  reduced  to  a  pulp  by 
a  natural  and  easy  process,  of  occasional  insolence  and 
general  negligence.  One  of  the  soft,  but  unpleasant 
missiles  just  alluded  to  flew  by  the  master's  head  one 
morning,  and  flattened  itself  against  the  wall,  where 
it  adhered  in  the  form  of  a  convex  mass  in  alto  rilievo. 
The  master  looked  round  and  saw  the  young  butcher's 
arm  in  an  attitude  which  pointed  to  it  unequivocally 
as  the  source  from  which  the  projectile  had  taken  its 
flight. 

Master  Weeks  turned  pale.  He  must  "lick"  Ab- 
ner  Briggs,  Junior,  or  abdicate.  So  he  determined  to 
lick  Abner  Briggs,  Junior. 

"Come  here,  Sir!  "  he  said;  "you  have  insulted  me 
and  outraged  the  decency  of  the  schoolroom  often 
enough !  Hold  out  your  hand !  " 

The  young  fellow  grinned  and  held  it  out.  The 
master  struck  at  it  with  his  black  ruler,  with  a  will  in 
the  blow  and  a  snapping  of  the  eyes,  as  much  as  to 
say  that  he  meant  to  make  him  smart  this  time.  The 
young  fr  ^-vw  pulled  his  hand  back  as  the  ruler  came 
down,  the  master  hit  himself  a  vicious  blow  with 
it  on  right  knee.  There  are  things  no  man  can 
star  The  master  caught  the  refractory  youth  by 
th  ilar  and  began  shaking  him,  or  rather  shaking 
}  elf  against  him. 

Le'  go  o'  that  are  coat,  naow,"  said  the  fellow, 
'V  r  I  '11  make  ye !  'T  '11  take  tew  on  ye  t'  handle  me, 
I  tell  ye,  'n'  then  ye  caant  dew  it!  "  —  and  the  young 


26  ELSIE   VENNER. 

pupil  returned  the  master's  attention  by  catching  hold 
of  his  collar. 

When  it  comes  to  that,  the  best  man,  not  exactly 
in  the  moral  sense,  but  rather  in  the  material,  and 
more  especially  the  muscular  point  of  view,  is  very 
apt  to  have  the  best  of  it,  irrespectively  of  the  merits 
of  the  case.  So  it  happened  now.  The  unfortunate 
schoolmaster  found  himself  taking  the  measure  of  the 
sanded  floor,  amidst  the  general  uproar  of  the  school. 
From  that  moment  his  ferule  was  broken,  and  the 
school-committee  very  soon  had  a  vacancy  to  fill. 

Master  Pigeon,  the  successor  of  Master  Weeks,  was 
of  better  stature,  but  loosely  put  together,  and  slender- 
limbed.  A  dreadfully  nervous  kind  of  man  he  was, 
walked  on  tiptoe,  started  at  sudden  noises,  was  dis 
tressed  when  he  heard  a  whisper,  had  a  quick,  suspi 
cious  look,  and  was  always  saying,  "Hush!  "  and  put 
ting  his  hands  to  his  ears.  The  boys  were  not  long  in 
finding  out  this  nervous  weakness,  of  course.  In  less 
than  a  week  a  regular  system  of  torments  was  inau 
gurated,  full  of  the  most  diabolical  malice  and  inge 
nuity.  The  exercises  of  the  conspirators  varied  from 
day  to  day,  but  consisted  mainly  of  foot-scraping, 
solos  on  the  slate-pencil,  (making  it  screech  on  the 
slate,)  falling  of  heavy  books,  attacks  of  coughing, 
banging  of  desk -lids,  boot-creaking,  with  sounds  as  of 
drawing  a  cork  from  time  to  time,  followed  by  sup 
pressed  chuckles. 

Master  Pigeon  grew  worse  and  worse  under  these 
inflictions.  The  rascally  boys  always  had  an  eA  ~  ise 
for  any  one  trick  they  were  caught  at.  "Co  n' 
help  coughin',  Sir."  "Slipped  out  o'  m'  han',  ." 
"Did  n'  go  to,  Sir."  "Didn'  dew  't  o'  purpose, 
And  so  on,  —  always  the  best  of  reasons  for  th° 


ELSIE  VENNER.  27 

outrageous  of  behavior.  The  master  weighed  himself 
at  the  grocer's  on  a  platform  balance,  some  ten  days 
after  he  began  keeping  the  school.  At  the  end  of  a 
week  he  weighed  himself  again.  He  had  lost  two 
pounds.  At  the  end  of  another  week  he  had  lost  five. 
He  made  a  little  calculation,  based  on  these  data,  from 
which  he  learned  that  in  a  certain  number  of  months, 
going  on  at  this  rate,  he  should  come  to  weigh  pre 
cisely  nothing  at  all;  and  as  this  was  a  sum  in  sub 
traction  he  did  not  care  to  work  out  in  practice, 
Master  Pigeon  took  to  himself  wings  and  left  the 
school-committee  in  possession  of  a  letter  of  resigna 
tion  and  a  vacant  place  to  fill  once  more. 

This  was  the  school  to  which  Mr.  Bernard  Langdon 
found  himself  appointed  as  master.  He  accepted  the 
place  conditionally,  with  the  understanding  that  he 
should  leave  it  at  the  end  of  a  month,  if  he  were  tired 
of  it. 

The  advent  of  Master  Langdon  to  Pigwacket  Centre 
created  a  much  more  lively  sensation  than  had  at 
tended  that  of  either  of  his  predecessors.  Looks  go  a 
good  way  all  the  world  over,  and  though  there  were 
several  good-looking  people  in  the  place,  and  Major 
Bush  was  what  the  natives  of  the  town  called  a  "hahn- 
some  mahn,"  that  is,  big,  fat,  and  red,  yet  the  sight 
of  a  really  elegant  young  fellow,  with  the  natural  air 
which  grows  up  with  carefully-bred  young  persons, 
was  a  novelty.  The  Brahmin  blood  which  came  from 
his  grandfather  as  well  as  from  his  mother,  a  direct 
descendant  of  the  old  Flynt  family,  well  known  by  the 
famous  tutor,  Henry  Flynt,  (see  Cat.  Harv.  Anno 
1693,)  had  been  enlivened  and  enriched  by  that  of  the 
Wentworths,  which  had  had  a  good  deal  of  ripe  old 
Madeira  and  other  generous  elements  mingled  with  it, 


28  ELSIE  VENNER. 

so  that  it  ran  to  gout  sometimes  in  the  old  folks  and  to 
high  spirit,  warm  complexion,  and  curly  hair  in  some 
of  the  younger  ones.  N  The  soft  curling  hair  Mr.  Ber 
nard  had  inherited,  -^-  something,  perhaps,  of  the  high 
spirit ;  but  that  we  shall  have  a  chance  of  finding  out 
by  and  by.  But  the  long  sermons  and  the  frugal 
board  of  his  Brahmin  ancestry,  with  his  own  habits 
of  study,  had  told  upon  his  color,  which  was  subdued 
to  something  more  of  delicacy  than  one  would  care  to 
see  in  a  young  fellow  with  rough  work  before  him. 
This,  however,  made  him  look  more  interesting,  or,  as 
the  young  ladies  at  Major  Bush's  said,  "interestin'." 

When  Mr.  Bernard  showed  himself  at  meeting,  on 
the  first  Sunday  after  his  arrival,  it  may  be  supposed 
that  a  good  many  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  young 
schoolmaster.  There  was  something  heroic  in  his 
coming  forward  so  readily  to  take  a  place  which 
called  for  a  strong  hand,  and  a  prompt,  steady  will  to 
guide  it.  In  fact,  his  position  was  that  of  a  military 
chieftain  on  the  eve  of  a  battle.  Everybody  knew 
everything  in  Pigwacket  Centre ;  and  it  was  an  under 
stood  thing  that  the  young  rebels  meant  to  put  down 
the  new  master,  if  they  could.  It  was  natural  that 
the  two  prettiest  girls  in  the  village,  called  in  the  local 
dialect,  as  nearly  as  our  limited  alphabet  will  repre 
sent  it,  Alminy  Cutterr,  and  Arvilly  Braowne,  should 
feel  and  express  an  interest  in  the  good-looking 
stranger,  and  that,  when  their  flattering  comments 
were  repeated  in  the  hearing  of  their  indigenous  ad 
mirers,  among  whom  were  some  of  the  older  "boys" 
of  the  school,  it  should  not  add  to  the  amiable  dispo 
sitions  of  the  turbulent  youth. 

Monday  came,  and  the  new  schoolmaster  was  in 
his  chair  at  the  upper  end  of  the  schoolhouse,  on  the 


ELSIE   VENNER.  29 

raised  platform.  The  rustics  looked  at  his  handsome 
face,  thoughtful,  peaceful,  pleasant,  cheerful,  but 
sharply  cut  round  the  lips  and  proudly  lighted  about 
the  eyes.  The  ringleader  of  the  mischief-makers,  the 
young  butcher  who  has  before  figured  in  this  narra 
tive,  looked  at  him  stealthily,  whenever  he  got  a 
chance  to  study  him  unobserved ;  for  the  truth  was,  he 
felt  uncomfortable,  whenever  he  found  the  large,  dark 
eyes  fixed  on  his  own  little,  sharp,  deep-set,  gray  ones. 
But  he  managed  to  study  him  pretty  well,  —  first  his 
face,  then  his  neck  and  shoulders,  the  set  of  his  arms, 
the  narrowing  at  the  loins,  the  make  of  his  legs,  and 
the  way  he  moved.  In  short,  he  examined  him  as  he 
would  have  examined  a  steer,  to  see  what  he  could  do 
and  how  he  would  cut  up.  If  he  could  only  have 
gone  to  him  and  felt  of  his  muscles,  he  would  have 
been  entirely  satisfied.  He  was  not  a  very  wise 
youth,  but  he  did  know  well  enough,  that,  though  big 
arms  and  legs  are  very  good  things,  there  is  something 
besides  size  that  goes  to  mak-3  a  man;  and  he  had 
heard  stories  of  a  fighting-man,  called  "The  Spider," 
from  his  attenuated  proportions,  who  was  yet  a  terri 
ble  hitter  in  the  ring,  and  had  whipped  many  a  big- 
limbed  fellow,  in  and  out  of  the  roped  arena. 

Nothing  could  be  smoother  than  the  way  in  which 
everything  went  on  for  the  first  day  or  two.  The  new 
master  was  so  kind  and  courteous,  he  seemed  to  take 
everything  in  such  a  natural,  easy  way,  that  there  was 
no  chance  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  him.  He  in  the 
mean  time  thought  it  best  to  watch  the  boys  and 
young  men  for  a  day  or  two  with  as  little  show  of 
authority  as  possible.  It  was  easy  enough  to  see  that 
lie  would  have  occasion  for  it  before  long. 

The  schoolhouse  was  a  grim,   old,  red,    one-story 


30  ELSIE  VENNER. 

building,  perched  on  a  bare  rock  at  the  top  of  a  hill, 
—  partly  because  this  was  a  conspicuous  site  for  the 
temple  of  learning,  and  partly  because  land  is  cheap 
where  there  is  no  chance  even  for  rye  or  buckwheat, 
and  the  very  sheep  find  nothing  to  nibble.  About  the 
little  porch  were  carved  initials  and  dates,  at  various 
heights,  from  the  stature  of  nine  to  that  of  eighteen. 
Inside  were  old  unpainted  desks,  —  unpainted,  but 
browned  with  the  umber  of  human  contact,  —  and 
hacked  by  innumerable  jack-knives.  It  was  long 
since  the  walls  had  been  whitewashed,  as  might  be 
conjectured  by  the  various  traces  left  upon  them, 
wherever  idle  hands  or  sleepy  heads  could  reach  them. 
A  curious  appearance  was  noticeable  on  various  higher 
parts  of  the  wall :  namely,  a  wart-like  eruption,  as  one 
would  be  tempted  to  call  it,  being  in  reality  a  crop  of 
the  soft  missiles  before  mentioned,  which,  adhering  in 
considerable  numbers,  and  hardening  after  the  usual 
fashion  of  papier-mache,  formed  at  last  permanent 
ornaments  of  the  edifice. 

The  young  master's  quick  eye  soon  noticed  that  a 
particular  part  of  the  wall  was  most  favored  with 
these  ornamental  appendages.  Their  position  pointed 
sufficiently  clearly  to  the  part  of  the  room  they  came 
from.  In  fact,  there  was  a  nest  of  young  mutineers 
just  there,  which  must  be  broken  up  by  a  coup  d'etat* 
This  was  easily  effected  by  redistributing  the  seats 
and  arranging  the  scholars  according  to  classes,  so 
that  a  mischievous  fellow,  charged  full  of  the  rebel 
lious  imponderable,  should  find  himself  between  two 
non-conductors,  in  the  shape  of  small  boys  of  studious 
habits.  It  was  managed  quietly  enough,  in  such  a 
plausible  sort  of  way  that  its  motive  was  not  thought 
of.  But  its  effects  were  soon  felt ;  and  then  began  a 


ELSIE   VENNER.  31 

system  of  correspondence  by  signs,  and  the  throwing 
of  little  scrawls  done  up  in  pellets,  and  announced  by 
preliminary  a'A'ms/  to  call  the  attention  of  the  dis 
tant  youth  addressed.  Some  of  these  were  incendiary 
documents,  devoting  the  schoolmaster  to  the  lower 

divinities,  as  "a stuck-up  dandy,"  as  "a 

purse-proud  aristocrat,"  as  "a sight  too  big  for 

his,  etc.,"  and  holding  him  up  in  a  variety  of  equally 
forcible  phrases  to  the  indignation  of  the  youthful 
community  of  School  District  No.  1,  Pigwacket 
Centre. 

Presently  the  draughtsman  of  the  school  set  a  cari 
cature  in  circulation,  labelled,  to  prevent  mistakes, 
with  the  schoolmaster's  name.  An  immense  bell- 
crowned  hat,  and  a  long,  pointed,  swallow-tailed  coat 
showed  that  the  artist  had  in  his  mind  the  conven 
tional  dandy,  as  shown  in  prints  of  thirty  or  forty 
years  ago,  rather  than  any  actual  human  aspect  of  the 
time.  But  it  was  passed  round  among  the  boys  and 
made  its  laugh,  helping  of  course  to  undermine  the 
master's  authority,  as  "Punch"  or  the  "Charivari" 
takes  the  dignity  out  of  an  obnoxious  minister.  One 
morning,  on  going  to  the  schoolroom,  Master  Langdon 
found  an  enlarged  copy  of  this  sketch,  with  its  label, 
pinned  on  the  door.  He  took  it  down,  smiled  a  little, 
put  it  into  his  pocket,  and  entered  the  schoolroom.  An 
insidious  silence  prevailed,  which  looked  as  if  some 
plot  were  brewing.  The  boys  were  ripe  for  mischief, 
but  afraid.  They  had  really  no  fault  to  find  with  the 
master,  except  that  he  was  dressed  like  a  gentleman, 
which  a  certain  class  of  fellows  always  consider  a  per 
sonal  insult  to  themselves.  But  the  older  ones  were 
evidently  plotting,  and  more  than  once  the  warning 
a'A'ra  /  was  heard,  and  a  dirty  little  scrap  of  paper 


32  ELSIE   VENNER. 

rolled  into  a  wad  shot  from  one  seat  to  another.  One 
of  these  happened  to  strike  the  stove-funnel,  and 
lodged  on  the  master's  desk.  He  was  cool  enough  not 
to  seem  to  notice  it.  He  secured  it,  however,  and 
found  an  opportunity  to  look  at  it,  without  being  ob 
served  by  the  boys.  It  required  no  immediate  notice,, 
He  who  should  have  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  looking 
upon  Mr.  Bernard  Langdon  the  next  morning,  when 
his  toilet  was  about  half  finished,  would  have  had  a 
very  pleasant  gratuitous  exhibition.  First  he  buckled 
the  strap  of  his  trousers  pretty  tightly.  Then  he  took 
up  a  pair  of  heavy  dumb-bells,  and  swung  them  for  a 
few  minutes;  then  two  great  "Indian  clubs,"  with 
which  he  enacted  all  sorts  of  impossible-looking  feats. 
His  limbs  were  not  very  large,  nor  his  shoulders  re 
markably  broad ;  but  if  you  knew  as  much  of  the  mus 
cles  as  all  persons  who  look  at  statues  and  pictures 
with  a  critical  eye  ought  to  have  learned,  —  if  you 
knew  the  trapezius,  lying  diamond-shaped  over  the 
back  and  shoulders  like  a  monk's  cowl,  — or  the  del 
toid,  which  caps  the  shoulder  like  an  epaulette,  —  or 
the  triceps,  which  furnishes  the  calf  of  the  upper  arm, 
—  or  the  hard-knotted  biceps,  —  any  of  the  great 
sculptural  landmarks,  in  fact,  —  you  would  have  said 
there  was  a  pretty  show  of  them,  beneath  the  white 
satiny  skin  of  Mr.  Bernard  Langdon.  And  if  you 
had  seen  him,  when  he  had  laid  down  the  Indian 
clubs,  catch  hold  of  a  leather  strap  that  hung  from 
the  beam  of  the  old-fashioned  ceiling,  and  lift  and 
lower  himself  over  and  over  again  by  his  left  hand 
alone,  you  might  have  thought  it  a  very  simple  and 
easy  thing  to  do,  until  you  tried  to  do  it  yourself.  — 
Mr.  Bernard  looked  at  himself  with  the  eye  of  an  ex 
pert.  "Pretty  well!  "  he  said;  —  "not  so  much  fallen 


ELSIE  VENNER.  83 

off  as  I  expected."  Then  he  set  up  his  bolster  in  a 
very  knowing  sort  of  way,  and  delivered  two  or  three 
blows  straight  as  rulers  and  swift  as  winks.  "That 
will  do,"  he  said.  Then,  as  if  determined  to  make  a 
certainty  of  his  condition,  he  took  a  dynamometer 
from  one  of  the  drawers  in  his  old  veneered  bureau. 
First  he  squeezed  it  with  his  two  hands.  Then  he 
placed  it  on  the  floor  and  lifted,  steadily,  strongly. 
The  springs  creaked  and  cracked;  the  index  swept 
with  a  great  stride  far  up  into  the  high  figures  of  the 
scale ;  it  was  a  good  lift.  He  was  satisfied.  He  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  and  looked  at  his  cleanly- 
shaped  arms.  "If  I  strike  one  of  those  boobies,  I 
am  afraid  I  shall  spoil  him,"  he  said.  Yet  this 
young  man,  when  weighed  with  his  class  at  the  col 
lege,  could  barely  turn  one  hundred  and  forty-two 
pounds  in  the  scale,  —  not  a  heavy  weight,  surely ;  but 
some  of  the  middle  weights,  as  the  present  English 
champion,  for  instance,  seem  to  be  of  a  far  finer  qual 
ity  of  muscle  than  the  bulkier  fellows. 

The  master  took  his  breakfast  with  a  good  appetite 
that  morning,  but  was  perhaps  rather  more  quiet  than 
usual.  After  breakfast  he  went  up-stairs  and  put  on 
a  light  loose  frock,  instead  of  that  which  he  commonly 
wore,  which  was  a  close-fitting  and  rather  stylish  one. 
On  his  way  to  school  he  met  Alminy  Cutterr,  who 
happened  to  be  walking  in  the  other  direction. 
"Good-morning,  Miss  Cutter,"  he  said;  for  she  and 
another  young  lady  had  been  introduced  to  him,  on 
a  former  occasion,  in  the  usual  phrase  of  polite  soci 
ety  in  presenting  ladies  to  gentlemen,  —  "Mr.  Lang- 
don,  let  me  make  y'  acquainted  with  Miss  Cutterr; 
—  let  me  make  y'  acquainted  with  Miss  Braowne." 
So  he  said,  "Good-morning";  to  which  she  replied, 


84  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"Good-mornin',  Mr.  Langdon.  Haow  's  your 
haiilth?"  The  answer  to  this  question  ought  natu 
rally  to  have  been  the  end  of  the  talk;  but  Alininy 
Cutterr  lingered  and  looked  as  if  she  had  something 
more  on  her  mind. 

A  young  fellow  does  not  require  a  great  experi 
ence  to  read  a  simple  country -girl's  face  as  if  it 
were  a  sign-board.  Alminy  was  a  good  soul,  with 
red  cheeks  and  bright  eyes,  kind-hearted  as  she  could 
be,  and  it  was  out  of  the  question  for  her  to  hide 
her  thoughts  or  feelings  like  a  fine  lady.  Her  bright 
eyes  were  moist  and  her  red  cheeks  paler  than  their 
wont,  as  she  said,  with  her  lips  quivering,  —  "  Oh, 
Mr.  Langdon,  them  boys  '11  be  the  death  of  ye,  if  ye 
don't  take  caar! " 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  my  dear?"  said  Mr. 
Bernard.  —  Don't  think  there  was  anything  very  odd 
in  that  "my  dear,"  at  the  second  interview  with  a  vil 
lage  belle ;  —  some  of  these  woman-tamers  call  a  girl 
"My  dear,"  after  five  minutes'  acquaintance,  and  it 
sounds  all  right  as  they  say  it.  But  you  had  better 
not  try  it  at  a  venture. 

It  sounded  all  right  to  Alminy,  as  Mr.  Bernard 
said  it.  —  "I  '11  tell  ye  what 's  the  mahtterr,"  she  said, 
in  a  frightened  voice.  "Ahbner's  go'n'  to  car'  his 
dog,  'n'  he  '11  set  him  on  ye  'z  sure  'z  y'  V  alive. 
'T  's  the  same  cretur  that  haaf  eat  up  Eben  Squires's 
little  Jo,  a  year  come  nex'  Faiist  day." 

Now  this  last  statement  was  undoubtedly  overeol- 
ored;  as  little  Jo  Squires  was  running  about  the  vil 
lage,  —  with  an  ugly  scar  on  his  arm,  it  is  true, 
where  the  beast  had  caught  him  with  his  teeth,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  child's  taking  liberties  with  him,  as  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  do  with  a  good-tempered  New- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  35 

foundland  dog,  who  seemed  to  like  being  pulled  and 
hauled  round  by  children.  After  this  the  creature 
was  commonly  muzzled,  and,  as  he  was  fed  on  raw 
meat  chiefly,  was  always  ready  for  a  fight,  —  which  he 
was  occasionally  indulged  in,  when  anything  stout 
enough  to  match  him  could  be  found  in  any  of  the 
neighboring  villages. 

Tiger,  or,  more  briefly,  Tige,  the  property  of  Abner 
Briggs,  Junior,  belonged  to  a  species  not  distinctly 
named  in  scientific  books,  but  well  known  to  our  coun 
try-folks  under  the  name  "Yallah  dog."  They  do 
not  use  this  expression  as  they  would  say  black  dog  or 
white  dog,  but  with  almost  as  definite  a  meaning  as 
when  they  speak  of  a  terrier  or  a  spaniel.  A  "yallah 
dog "  is  a  large  canine  brute,  of  a  dingy  old-flannel 
color,  of  no  particular  breed  except  his  own,  who 
hangs  round  a  tavern  or  a  butcher's  shop,  or  trots 
alongside  of  a  team,  looking  as  if  he  were  disgusted 
with  the  world,  and  the  world  with  him.  Our  inland 
population,  while  they  tolerate  him,  speak  of  him  with 

contempt.  Old  ,  of  Meredith  Bridge,  used  to 

twit  the  sun  for  not  shining  on  cloudy  days,  swearing, 
that,  if  he  hungup  his  "yallah  dog,"  he  would  make 
a  better  show  of  daylight.  A  country  fellow,  abus 
ing  a  horse  of  his  neighbor's,  vowed,  that,  "if  he  had 
such  a  hoss,  he  'd  swap  him  for  a  'yallah  dog,'  — and 
then  shoot  the  dog." 

Tige  was  an  ill-conditioned  brute  by  nature,  and  art 
had  not  improved  him  by  cropping  his  ears  and  tail 
and  investing  him  with  a  spiked  collar.  He  bore  on 
his  person,  also,  various  not  ornamental  scars,  marks 
of  old  battles ;  for  Tige  had  fight  in  him,  as  was  said 
before,  and  as  might  be  guessed  by  a  certain  bluntness 
about  the  muzzle,  with  a  projection  of  the  lower  jaw, 


36  ELSIE  VENNER. 

which  looked  as  if  there  might  be  a  bull-dog  stripe 
among  the  numerous  bar-sinisters  of  his  lineage. 

It  was  hardly  fair,  however,  to  leave  AJminy  Cut- 
terr  waiting  while  this  piece  of  natural  history  was 
telling.  —  As  she  spoke  of  little  Jo,  who  had  been 
"haiif  cat  up"  by  Tige,  she  could  not  contain  her 
sympathies,  and  began  to  cry. 

"Why,  my  dear  little  soul,"  said  Mr.  Bernard, 
"what  are  you  worried  about?  I  used  to  play  with  a 
bear  when  I  was  a  boy ;  and  the  bear  used  to  hug  me, 
and  I  used  to  kiss  him-,  —  so !  " 

It  was  too  bad  of  Mr.  Bernard,  only  the  second  time 
he  had  seen  Alminy;  but  her  kind  feelings  had 
touched  him,  and  that  seemed  the  most  natural  way 
of  expressing  his  gratitude.  Alminy  looked  round  to 
see  if  anybody  was  near ;  she  saw  nobody,  so  of  course 
it  would  do  no  good  to  "holler."  She  saw  nobody; 
but  a  stout  young  fellow,  leading  a  yellow  dog,  muz 
zled,  saw  her  through  a  crack  in  a  picket  fence,  not  a 
great  way  off  the  road.  Many  a  year  he  had  been 
"hangin'  'raoun'  "  Alminy,  and  never  did  he  see  any 
encouraging  look,  or  hear  any  "Behave,  naow!"  or 
"Come,  naow,  a'n't  ye  'shamed?-"  or  other  forbidding 
phrase  of  acquiescence,  such  as  village  belles  under 
stand  as  well  as  ever  did  the  nymph  who  fled  to  the 
willows  in  the  eclogue  we  all  remember. 

No  wonder  he  was  furious,  when  he  saw  the  school 
master,  who  had  never  seen  the  girl  until  within  a 
week,  touching  with  his  lips  those  rosy  cheeks  which 
he  had  never  dared  to  approach.  But  that  was  all; 
it  was  a  sudden  impulse ;  and  the  master  turned  away 
from  the  young  girl,  laughing,  and  telling  her  not  to 
fret  herself  about  him,  — he  would  take  care  of  himself, 

So  Master  Langdon  walked  on  toward  his  school- 


ELSIE  VENNE: 

house,  not  displeased,  perhaps,  with  his  little  adven 
ture,  nor  immensely  elated  by  it;  for  he  was  one  of 
the  natural  class  of  the  sex-subduers,  and  had  had 
many  a  smile  without  asking,  which  had  been  denied 
to  the  feeble  youth  who  try  to  win  favor  by  pleading 
their  passion  in  rhyme,  and  even  to  the  more  formid 
able  approaches  of  young  officers  in  volunteer  compa 
nies,  considered  by  many  to  be  quite  irresistible  to  the 
fair  who  have  once  beheld  them  from  their  windows 
in  the  epaulettes  and  plumes  and  sashes  of  the  "Pig- 
wacket  Invincibles,"or  the  "Hackmatack  Rangers." 

Master  Langdon  took  his  seat  and  began  the  exer 
cises  of  his  school.  The  smaller  boys  recited  their 
lessons  well  enough,  but  some  of  the  larger  ones  were 
negligent  and  surly.  He  noticed  one  or  two  of  them 
looking  toward  the  door,  as  if  expecting  somebody 
or  something  in  that  direction.  At  half  past  nine 
o'clock,  Abner  Briggs,  Junior,  who  had  not  yet  shown 
himself,  made  his  appearance.  He  was  followed  by 
his  "yallah  dog,"  without  his  muzzle,  who  squatted 
down  very  grimly  near  the  door,  and  gave  a  wolfish 
look  round  the  room,  as  if  he  were  considering  which 
was  the  plumpest  boy  to  begin  with.  The  yoring 
butcher,  meanwhile,  went  to  his  seat,  looking  some 
what  flushed,  except  round  the  lips,  which  were  hardly 
as  red  as  common,  and  set  pretty  sharply. 

"Put  out  that  dog,  Abner  Briggs!  "  —  The  master 
spoke  as  the  captain  speaks  to  the  helmsman,  when 
there  are  rocks  foaming  at  the  lips,  right  under  his  lee. 

Abner  Briggs  answered  as  the  helmsman  answers, 
when  he  knows  he  has  a  mutinous  crew  round  him 
that  mean  to  run  the  ship  on  the  reef,  and  is  one  of 
the  mutineers  himself.  "Put  him  aout  y'rself,  'f  ye 
a'n't  afeard  on  him  I  " 


38  ELSIE   VENNER. 

The  master  stepped  into  the  aisle.  The  great  cur 
showed  his  teeth,  —  and  the  devilish  instincts  of  his 
old  wolf -ancestry  looked  out  of  his  eyes,  and  flashed 
from  his  sharp  tusks,  and  yawned  in  his  wide  mouth 
and  deep  red  gullet. 

The  movements  of  animals  are  so  much  quicker 
than  those  of  human  beings  commonly  are,  that  they 
avoid  blows  as  easily  as  one  of  vis  steps  out  of  the 
way  of  an  ox -cart.  It  must  be  a  very  stupid  dog  that 
lets  himself  be  run  over  by  a  fast  driver  in  his  gig ;  he 
can  jump  out  of  the  wheel's  way  after  the  tire  has  al 
ready  touched  him.  So,  while  one  is  lifting  a  stick 
to  strike  or  drawing  back  his  foot  to  kick,  the  beast 
makes  his  spring,  and  the  blow  or  the  kick  comes  too 
late. 

It  was  not  so  this  time.  The  master  was  a  fencer, 
and  something  of  a  boxer;  he  had  played  at  single 
stick,  and  was  used  to  watching  an  adversary's  eye 
and  coming  down  on  him  without  any  of  those  pre 
monitory  symptoms  by  which  unpractised  persons  show 
long  beforehand  what  mischief  they  meditate. 

"Out  with  you!  "  he  said,  fiercely,  — and  explained 
what  he  meant  by  a  sudden  flash  of  his  foot  that 
clashed  the  yellow  dog's  white  teeth  together  like  the 
springing  of  a  bear-trap.  The  cur  knew  he  had  found 
his  master  at  the  first  word  and  glance,  as  low  animals 
on  four  legs,  or  a  smaller  number,  always  do;  and 
the  blow  took  him  so  by  surprise,  that  it  curled  him 
up  in  an  instant,  and  he  went  bundling  out  of  the  open 
schoolhouse-door  with  a  most  pitiable  yelp,  and  his 
stump  of  a  tail  shut  down  as  close  as  his  owner  ever 
shut  the  short,  stubbed  blade  of  his  jack-knife. 

It  was  time  for  the  other  cur  to  find  who  his  mas 
ter  was. 


ELSIE  VENNER.  39 

"Follow  your  dog,  Abner  Briggs!"  said  Master 
Langdon. 

The  stout  butcher-youth  looked  round,  but  the  reb 
els  were  all  cowed  and  sat  still. 

"I  '11  go  when  I  'm  ready,"  he  said,  —  "  'n'  I  guess 
I  won't  go  afore  I  'm  ready." 

"You're  ready  now,"  said  Master  Langdon,  turn 
ing  up  his  cuffs  so  that  the  little  boys  noticed  the 
yellow  gleam  of  a  pair  of  gold  sleeve-buttons,  once 
worn  by  Colonel  Percy  Wentworth,  famous  in  the 
Old  French  War. 

Abner  Briggs,  Junior,  did  not  apparently  think  he 
was  ready,  at  any  rate ;  for  he  rose  up  in  his  place, 
and  stood  with  clenched  fists,  defiant,  as  the  master 
strode  towards  him.  The  master  knew  the  fellow  was 
really  frightened,  for  all  his  looks,  and  that  he  must 
have  no  time  to  rally.  So  he  caught  him  suddenly 
by  the  collar,  and,  with  one  great  pull,  had  him  out 
over  his  desk  and  on  the  open  floor.  He  gave  him  a 
sharp  fling  backwards  and  stood  looking  at  him. 

The  rough-and-tumble  fighters  all  clinch,  as  every 
body  knows;  and  Abner  Briggs,  Junior,  was  one  of 
that  kind.  He  remembered  how  he  had  floored  Mas 
ter  Weeks,  and  he  had  just  "spunk"  enough  left  in 
him  to  try  to  repeat  his  former  successful  experiment 
on  the  new  master.  He  sprang  at  him,  open-handed, 
to  clutch  him.  So  the  master  had  to  strike,  —  once, 
but  very  hard,  and  just  in  the  place  to  tell.  No 
doubt,  the  authority  that  doth  hedge  a  schoolmaster 
added. to  the  effect  of  the  blow;  but  the  blow  was 
itself  a  neat  one,  and  did  not  require  to  be  repeated. 

"Now  go  home,"  said  the  master,  "and  don't  let 
me  see  you  or  your  dog  here  again."  And  he  turned 
his  cuffs  down  over  the  gold  sleeve-buttons. 


40  ELSIE  VENNER. 

This  finished  the  great  Pigwacket  Centre  School 
rebellion.  What  could  be  done  with  a  master  who 
was  so  pleasant  as  long  as  the  boys  behaved  decently, 
and  such  a  terrible  fellow  when  he  got  "riled,"  as  they 
called  it?  In  a  week's  time  everything  was  reduced 
to  order,  and  the  school-committee  were  delighted. 
The  master,  however,  had  received  a  proposition  so 
much  more  agreeable  and  advantageous,  that  he  in- 
formed  the  committee  he  should  leave  at  the  end  of 
his  month,  having  in  his  eye  a  sensible  and  energetic 
young  college-graduate  who  would  be  willing  and 
fully  competent  to  take  his  place. 

So,  at  the  expiration  of  the  appointed  time,  Ber 
nard  Langdon,  late  master  of  the  School  District  No. 
1,  Pigwacket  Centre,  took  his  departure  from  that 
place  for  another  locality,  whither  we  shall  follow  him, 
carrying  with  him  the  regrets  of  the  committee,  of  most 
of  the  scholars,  and  of  several  young  ladies ;  also  two 
locks  of  hair,  sent  unbeknown  to  payrents,  one  dark 
and  one  ^warmish  auburn,  inscribed  with  the  respec 
tive  initials  of  Alminy  Cutterr  and  Arvilly  Braowne. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  MOTH   FLIES   INTO  THE  CANDLE. 

THE  invitation  which  Mr.  Bernard  Langdon  had 
accepted  came  from  the  Board  of  Trustees  of  the 
"Apollinean  Female  Institute,"  a  school  for  the  educa 
tion  of  young  ladies,  situated  in  the  flourishing  town 
of  Rockland.  This  was  an  establishment  on  a  con 
siderable  scale,  in  which  a  hundred  scholars  or  there 
abouts  were  taught  the  ordinary  English  branches, 
several  of  the  modern  languages,  something  of  Latin, 
if  desired,  with  a  little  natural  philosophy,  metaphy 
sics,  and  rhetoric,  to  finish  off  with  in  the  last  year, 
and  music  at  any  time  when  they  would  pay  for  it. 
At  the  close  of  their  career  in  the  Institute,  they  were 
submitted  to  a  grand  public  examination,  and  received 
diplomas  tied  in  blue  ribbons,  which  proclaimed  them 
with  a  great  flourish  of  capitals  to  be  graduates  of  the 
Apollinean  Female  Institute. 

Rockland  was  a  town  of  no  inconsiderable  preten 
sions.  It  was  ennobled  by  lying  at  the  foot  of  a 
mountain,  —  called  by  the  working-folks  of  the  place 
"the  Maounting,"  —  which  sufficiently  showed  that  it 
was  the  principal  high  land  of  the  district  in  which  it 
was  situated.  It  lay  to  the  south  of  this,  and  basked 
in  the  sunshine  as  Italy  stretches  herself  before  the 
Alps.  To  pass  from  the  town  of  Tamarack  on  the 
north  of  the  mountain  to  Rockland  on  the  south  was 
like  crossing  from  Coire  to  Chiavenna. 


42  ELSIE  VENNER, 

There  is  nothing  gives  glory  and  grandeur  and  ro 
mance  and  mystery  to  a  place  like  the  impending 
presence  of  a  high  mountain.  Our  beautiful  North 
ampton  with  its  fair  meadows  and  noble  stream  is 
lovely  enough,  but  owes  its  surpassing  attraction  to 
those  twin  summits  which  brood  over  it  like  living 
presences,  looking  down  into  its  streets  as  if  they  were 
its  tutelary  divinities,  dressing  and  undressing  their 
green  shrines,  robing  themselves  in  jubilant  sunshine 
or  in  sorrowing  clouds,  and  doing  penance  in  the 
snowy  shroud  of  winter,  as  if  they  had  living  hearts 
under  their  rocky  ribs  and  changed  their  mood  like 
the  children  of  the  soil  at  their  feet,  who  grow  up 
under  their  almost  parental  smiles  and  frowns. 
Happy  is  the  child  whose  first  dreams  of  heaven  are 
blended  with  the  evening  glories  of  Mount  Holyoke, 
when  the  sun  is  firing  its  treetops,  and  gilding  the 
white  walls  that  mark  its  one  human  dwelling!  If 
the  other  and  the  wilder  of  the  two  summits  has  a 
scowl  of  terror  in  its  overhanging  brows,  yet  is  it  a 
pleasing  fear  to  look  upon  its  savage  solitudes  through 
the  barred  nursery -windows  in  the  heart  of  the  sweet, 
companionable  village.  -  -  And  how  the  mountains  love 
their  children !  The  sea  is  of  a  facile  virtue,  and  will 
run  to  kiss  the  first  comer  in  any  port  he  visits;  but 
the  chaste  mountains  sit  apart,  and  show  their  faces 
only  in  the  midst  of  their  own  families. 

The  Mountain  which  kept  watch  to  the  north  of 
Rockland  lay  waste  and  almost  inviolate  through  much 
of  its  domain.  The  catamount  still  glared  from  the 
branches  of  its  old  hemlocks  on  the  lesser  beasts  that 
strayed  beneath  him.  It  was  not  long  since  a  wolf 
had  wandered  down,  famished  in  the  winter's  dearth, 
and  left  a  few  bones  and  some  tufts  of  wool  of  what 


ELSIE  VENNER.  43 

had  oeen  a  lamb  in  the  morning.  Nay,  there  were 
broad-footed  tracks  in  the  snow  only  two  years  pre 
viously,  which  could  not  be  mistaken;  —  the  black 
bear  alone  could  have  set  that  plantigrade  seal,  and 
little  children  must  come  home  early  from  school  and 
play,  for  he  is  an  indiscriminate  feeder  when  he  is 
hungry,  and  a  little  child  would  not  come  amiss  when 
other  game  was  wanting. 

But  these  occasional  visitors  may  have  been  mere 
wanderers,  which,  straying  along  in  the  woods  by 
day,  and  perhaps  stalking  through  the  streets  of  still 
villages  by  night,  had  worked  their  way  along  down 
from  the  ragged  mountain-spurs  of  higher  latitudes. 
The  one  feature  of  The  Mountain  that  shed  the  brown 
est  horror  on  its  woods  was  the  existence  of  the  terri 
ble  region  known  as  Rattlesnake  Ledge,  and  still  ten 
anted  by  those  damnable  reptiles,  which  distil  a  fiercer 
venom  under  our  cold  northern  sky  than  the  cobra 
himself  in  the  land  of  tropical  spices  and  poisons. 

From  the  earliest  settlement  of  the  place,  this  fact 
had  been,  next  to  the  Indians,  the  reigning  nightmare 
of  the  inhabitants.  It  was  easy  enough,  after  a  time, 
to  drive  away  the  savages;  for  "a  screeching  Indian 
Divell,"  as  our  fathers  called  him,  could  not  crawl 
into  the  crack  of  a  rock  to  escape  from  his  pursuers. 
But  the  venomous  population  of  Rattlesnake  Ledge 
had  a  Gibraltar  for  their  fortress  that  might  have 
defied  the  siege-train  dragged  to  the  walls  of  Sebas- 
topol.  In  its  deep  embrasures  and  its  impregnable 
casemates  they  reared  their  families,  they  met  in  love 
or  wrath,  they  twined  together  in  family  knots,  they 
hissed  defiance  in  hostile  clans,  they  fed,  slept,  hiber 
nated,  and  in  due  time  died  in  peace.  Many  a  foray 
had  the  towns-people  made,  and  many  a  stuffed  skin 


44  ELSIE   TENNER. 

was  shown  as  a  trophy,  — nay,  there  were  families 
where  the  children's  first  toy  was  made  from  the  warn 
ing  appendage  that  once  vibrated  to  the  wrath  of  one 
of  these  "cruel  serpents."  Sometimes  one  of  them, 
coaxed  out  by  a  warm  sun,  would  writhe  himself 
down  the  hillside  into  the  roads,  up  the  walks  that 
led  to  houses,  —  worse  than  this,  into  the  long  grass, 
where  the  barefooted  mowers  woidd  soon  pas's  with 
their  swinging  scythes,  —  more  rarely  into  houses,  — 
and  on  one  memorable  occasion,  early  in  the  last  cen 
tury,  into  the  meeting-house,  where  he  took  a  position 
on  the  pulpit-stairs,  — as  is  narrated  in  the  *4  Account 
of  Some  Remarkable  Providences,"  etc.,  where  it  is 
suggested  that  a  strong  tendency  of  the  Rev.  Didy- 
mus  Bean,  the  Minister  at  that  time,  towards  the 
Arminian  Heresy  may  have  had  something  to  do  with 
it,  and  that  the  Serpent  supposed  to  have  been  killed 
on  the  Pulpit-Stairs  was  a  false  show  of  the  Daemon's 
Contrivance,  he  having  come  in  to  listen  to  a  Dis 
course  which  was  a  sweet  Savour  in  his  Nostrils,  and, 
of  course,  not  being  capable  of  being  killed  Himself. 
Others  said,  however,  that,  though  there  was  good 
Reason  to  think  it  was  a  Daemon,  yet  he  did  come 
with  Intent  to  bite  the  Heel  of  that  faithful  Servant, 
—  etc. 

One  Gilson  is  said  to  have  died  of  the  bite  of  a  rat 
tlesnake  in  this  town  early  in  the  present  century. 
After  this  there  was  a  great  snake-hunt,  in  which  very 
many  of  these  venomous  beasts  were  killed,  —  one  in 
particular,  said  to  have  been  as  big  round  as  a  stout 
man's  arm,  and  to  have  had  no  less  than  forty  joints 
to  his  rattle,  —  indicating,  according  to  some,  that 
he  had  lived  forty  years,  but,  if  we  might  put  any 
faith  in  the  Indian  tradition,  that  he  had  killed  forty 


ELSIE  VENNER.  45 

human  beings,  —  an  idle  fancy,  clearly.  This  hunt, 
however,  had  no  permanent  effect  in  keeping  down 
the  serpent  population.  Viviparous  creatures  are  a 
kind  of  specie-paying  lot,  but  oviparous  ones  only 
give  their  notes,  as  it  were,  for  a  future  brood,  —  an 
egg  being,  so  to  speak,  a  promise  to  pay  a  young  one 
by  and  by,  if  nothing  happen.  Now  the  domestic 
habits  of  the  rattlesnake  are  not  studied  very  closely, 
for  obvious  reasons ;  but  it  is,  no  doubt,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  oviparous.  Consequently  it  has  large 
families,  and  is  not  easy  to  kill  out. 

In  the  year  184-,  a  melancholy  proof  was  afforded 
to  the  inhabitants  of  Rockland,  that  the  brood  which 
infested  The  Mountain  was  not  extirpated.  A  very 
interesting  young  married  woman,  detained  at  home 
at  the  time  by  the  state  of  her  health,  was  bitten  in 
the  entry  of  her  own  house  by  a  rattlesnake  which 
had  found  its  way  down  from  The  Mountain.  Owing 
to  the  almost  instant  employment  of  powerful  reme 
dies,  the  bite  did  not  prove  immediately  fatal ;  but  she 
died  within  a  few  months  of  the  time  when  she  was 
bitten. 

All  this  seemed  to  throw  a  lurid  kind  of  shadow 
over  The  Mountain.  Yet,  as  many  years  passed  with 
out  any  accident,  people  grew  comparatively  careless, 
and  it  might  rather  be  said  to  add  a  fearful  kind  of 
interest  to  the  romantic  hillside,  that  the  banded  rep 
tiles,  which  had  been  the  terror  of  the  red  men  for 
nobody  knows  how  many  thousand  years,  were  there 
still,  with  the  same  poison-bags  and  spring-teeth  at 
the  white  men's  service,  if  they  meddled  with  them. 

The  other  natural  features  of  Rockland  were  such 
as  many  of  our  pleasant  country -towns  can  boast  of. 
A  brook  came  tumbling  down  the  mountain-side  and 


46  ELSIE   VENNER. 

skirted  the  most  thickly  settled  portion  of  the  village. 
In  the  parts  of  its  course  where  it  ran  through  the 
woods,  the  water  looked  almost  as  brown  as  coffee 
flowing  from  its  urn,  —  to  say  like  smoky  quartz 
would  perhaps  give  a  better  idea,  —  but  in  the  open 
plain  it  sparkled  over  the  pebbles  white  as  a  queen's 
diamonds.  There  were  huckleberry -pastures  on  the 
lower  flanks  of  The  Mountain,  with  plenty  of  the 
sweet-scented  bayberry  mingled  with  the  other  bushes. 
In  other  fields  grew  great  store  of  high-bush  blackber 
ries.  Along  the  roadside  were  barberry -bushes,  hung 
all  over  with  bright  red  coral  pendants  in  autumn  and 
far  into  the  winter.  Then  there  were  swamps  set  thick 
with  dingy  alders,  where  the  three-leaved  arum  and 
the  skunk 's-cabbage  grew  broad  and  succulent,  — 
shelving  down  into  black  boggy  pools  here  and  there 
at  the  edge  of  which  the  green  frog,  stupidest  of  his 
tribe,  sat  waiting  to  be  victimized  by  boy  or  snapping- 
turtle  long  after  the  shy  and  agile  leopard-frog  had 
taken  the  six-foot  spring  that  plumped  him  into  the 
middle  of  the  pool.  And  on  the  neighboring  banks 
the  maiden-hair  spread  its  flat  disk  of  embroidered 
fronds  on  the  wire-like  stem  that  glistened  polished 
and  brown  as  the  darkest  tortoise-shell,  and  pale  vio 
lets,  cheated  by  the  cold  skies  of  their  hues  and  per 
fume,  sunned  themselves  like  white-cheeked  invalids. 
Over  these  rose  the  old  forest-trees,  —  the  maple, 
scarred  with  the  wounds  which  had  drained  away  its 
sweet  life-blood,  —  the  beech,  its  smooth  gray  bark 
mottled  so  as  to  look  like  the  body  of  one  of  those 
great  snakes  of  old  that  used  to  frighten  armies,  — 
always  the  mark  of  lovers'  knives,  as  in  the  days  of 
Musidora  and  her  swain,  —  the  yellow  birch,  rough 
as  the  breast  of  Silenus  in  old  marbles,  —  the  wild 


ELSIE   VENNER.  47 

cherry,  its  little  bitter  fruit  lying  unheeded  at  its  foot, 
—  and,  soaring  over  all,  the  huge,  coarse-barked, 
splintery -limbed,  dark-mantled  hemlock,  in  the  depth 
of  whose  aerial  solitudes  the  crow  brooded  on  her  nest 
unscared,  and  the  gray  squirrel  lived  unharmed  till 
his  incisors  grew  to  look  like  ram's-horns. 

Rockland  would  have  been  but  half  a  town  without 
its  pond ;  Quinnepeg  Pond  was  the  name  of  it,  but 
the  young  ladies  of  the  Apollinean  Institute  were 
very  anxious  that  it  should  be  called  Crystalline  Lake. 
It  was  here  that  the  young  folks  used  to  sail  in  sum 
mer  and  skate  in  winter;  here,  too,  those  queer,  old, 
rum-scented  good-for-nothing,  lazy,  story -telling,  half - 
vagabonds,  who  sawed  a  little  wood  or  dug  a  few  po 
tatoes  now  and  then  under  the  pretence  of  working 
for  their  living,  used  to  go  and  fish  through  the  ice 
for  pickerel  every  winter.  And  here  those  three 
young  people  were  drowned,  a  few  summers  ago,  by 
the  upsetting  of  a  sail-boat  in  a  sudden  flaw  of  wind. 
There  is  not  one  of  these  smiling  ponds  which  has  not 
devoured  more  youths  and  maidens  than  any  of  those 
monsters  the  ancients  used  to  tell  such  lies  about. 
But  it  was  a  pretty  pond,  and  never  looked  more  inno 
cent —  so  the  native  "bard"  of  Rockland  said  in  his 
elegy  —  than  on  the  morning  when  they  found  Sarah 
Jane  and  Ellen  Maria  floating  among  the  lily -pads. 

The  Apollinean  Institute,  or  Institoot,  as  it  was 
more  commonly  called,  was,  in  the  language  of  its 
Prospectus,  a  "first-class  Educational  Establishment." 
It  employed  a  considerable  corps  of  instructors  to 
rough  out  and  finish  the  hundred  young  lady  scholars 
it  sheltered  beneath  its  roof.  First,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Peckham,  the  Principal  and  the  Matron  of  the  school. 
Silas  Peckham  was  a  thorough  Yankee,  born  on  a 


48  ELSIE  VENNER. 

windy  part  of  the  coast,  and  reared  chiefly  on  salt-fish. 
Everybody  knows  the  type  of  Yankee  produced  by 
this  climate  and  diet :  thin,  as  if  he  had  been  split  and 
dried ;  with  an  ashen  kind  of  complexion,  like  the  tint 
of  the  food  he  is  made  of ;  and  about  as  sharp,  tough, 
juiceless,  and  biting  to  deal  with  as  the  other  is  to  the 
taste.  Silas  Peckham  kept  a  young  ladies'  school  ex 
actly  as  he  would  have  kept  a  hundred  head  of  cattle, 
—  for  the  simple,  unadorned  purpose  of  making  just 
as  much  money  in  just  as  few  years  as  could  be  safely 
done.  Mr.  Peckham  gave  very  little  personal  atten 
tion  to  the  department  of  instruction,  but  was  always 
busy  with  contracts  for  flour  and  potatoes,  beef  and 
pork,  and  other  nutritive  staples,  the  amount  of  which 
required  for  such  an  establishment  was  enough  to 
frighten  a  quartermaster.  Mrs.  Peckham  was  from 
the  West,  raised  on  Indian  corn  and  pork,  which  give 
a  fuller  outline  and  a  more  humid  temperament,  but 
may  perhaps  be  thought  to  render  people  a  little 
coarse-fibred.  Her  specialty  was  to  look  after  the 
feathering,  cackling,  roosting,  rising,  and  general  be 
havior  of  these  hundred  chicks.  An  honest,  ignorant 
woman,  she  could  not  have  passed  an  examination  in 
the  youngest  class.  So  this  distinguished  institution 
was  under  the  charge  of  a  commissary  and  a  house 
keeper,  and  its  real  business  was  making  money  by 
taking  young  girls  in  as  boarders. 

Connected  with  this,  however,  was  the  incidental 
fact,  which  the  public  took  for  the  principal  one, 
namely,  the  business  of  instruction.  Mr.  Peckham 
knew  well  enough  that  it  wasgust  as  well  to  have  good 
instructors  as  bad  ones,  so  far  as  cost  was  concerned, 
and  a  great  deal  better  for  the  reputation  of  his  feed 
ing-establishment.  He  tried  to  get  the  best  he  could 


ELSIE   VENNER.  49 

without  paying  too  much,  and,  having  got  them,  to 
screw  all  the  work  out  of  them  that  could  possibly  be 
extracted. 

There  was  a  master  for  the  English  branches,  with  a 
young  lady  assistant.  There  was  another  young  lady 
who  taught  French,  of  the  ahvahng  and  pahndahng 
style,  which  does  not  exactly  smack  of  the  asphalt  cf 
the  Boulevards.  There  was  also  a  German  teacher  of 
music,  who  sometimes  helped  in  French  of  the  ahfaung 
and  bauntaung  style,  —  so  that,  between  the  two,  the 
young  ladies  could  hardly  have  been  mistaken  for 
Parisians,  by  a  Committee  of  the  French  Academy. 
The  German  teacher  also  taught  a  Latin  class  after 
his  fashion,  —  benna,  a  ben,  gahboot,  a  head,  and  so 
forth. 

The  master  for  the  English  branches  had  lately  left 
the  school  for  private  reasons,  which  need  not  be  here 
mentioned,  — but  he  had  gone,  at  any  rate,  and  it  was 
his  place  which  had  been  offered  to  Mr.  Bernard 
Langdon.  The  offer  came  just  in  season,  —  as,  for 
various  causes,  he  was  willing  to  leave  the  place  where 
he  had  begun  his  new  experience. 

It  was  on  a  fine  morning  that  Mr.  Bernard,  ush 
ered  in  by  Mr.  Peckham,  made  his  appearance  in  the 
great  schoolroom  of  the  Apollinean  Institute.  A  gen 
eral  rustle  ran  all  round  the  seats  when  the  handsome 
young  man  was  introduced.  The  principal  carried 
him  to  the  desk  of  the  young  lady  English  assistant, 
Miss  Darley  by  name,  and  introduced  him  to  her. 

There  was  not  a  great  deal  of  study  done  that  day. 
The  young  lady  assistant  had  to  point  out  to  the  new 
master  the  whole  routine  in  which  the  classes  were 
engaged  when  their  late  teacher  left,  and  which  had 
gone  on  as  well  as  it  could  since.  Then  Master 


50  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Langclon  had  a  great  many  questions  to  ask,  some  re« 
lating  to  his  new  duties,  and  some,  perhaps,  implying 
a  degree  of  curiosity  not  very  unnatural  under  the  cir 
cumstances.  The  truth  is,  the  general  effect  of  the 
schoolroom,  with  its  scores  of  young  girls,  all  their 
eyes  naturally  centring  on  him  with  fixed  or  furtive 
glances,  was  enough  to  bewilder  and  confuse  a  young 
man  like  Master  Langdon,  though  he  was  not  desti 
tute  of  self-possession,  as  we  have  already  seen. 

You  cannot  get  together  a  hundred  girls,  taking 
them  as  they  come,  from  the  comfortable  and  affluent 
classes,  probably  anywhere,  certainly  not  in  New  Eng 
land,  without  seeing  a  good  deal  of  beauty.  In  fact, 
we  very  commonly  mean  by  beauty  the  way  young 
girls  look  when  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  their  looking 
as  Nature  meant  them  to.  And  the  great  schoolroom 
of  the  Apollinean  Institute  did  really  make  so  pretty 
a  show  on  the  morning  when  Master  Langdon  entered 
it,  that  he  might  be  pardoned  for  asking  Miss  Darley 
more  questions  about  his  scholars  than  about  their 
lessons. 

There  were  girls  of  all  ages :  little  creatures,  some 
pallid  and  delicate-looking,  the  offspring  of  invalid 
parents,  —  much  given  to  books,  not  much  to  mischief, 
commonly  spoken  of  as  particularly  good  children, 
and  contrasted  with  another  sort,  girls  of  more  vigor 
ous  organization,  who  were  disposed  to  laughing  and 
play,  and  required  a  strong  hand  to  manage  them;  — 
then  young  growing  misses  of  every  shade  of  Saxon 
complexion,  and  here  and  there  one  of  more  Southern 
hue :{  blondes,  some  of  them  so  translucent-looking 
that  it  seemed  as  if  you  could  see  the  souls  in  their 
bodies,  like  bubbles  in  glass,  if  souls  were  objects  of 
sight;  brunettes,  some  with  rose-red  colors,  and  some 


LSIE   VENNER.  51 

with  that  swartny  iiue  which  often  carries  with  it  a 
heavily-shaded  lip,  and  which,  with  pure  outlines  and 
outspoken  reliefs,  gives  us  some  of  our  handsomest 
women,  —  the  women  whom  ornaments  of  plain  gold 
adorn  more  than  any  other  parures;  and  again,  but 
only  here  and  there,  one  with  dark  hair  and  gray  or 
blue  eyes,  a  Celtic  type,  perhaps,  but  found  in  our 
native  stock  occasionally ;  rarest  of  all,  a  light-haired 
girl  with  dark  eyes,  hazel,  brown,  or  of  the  color  of 
that  mountain-brook  spoken  of  in  this  chapter,  where 
it  ran  through  shadowy  woodlands.  With  these  were 
to  be  seen  at  intervals  some  of  maturer  years,  full 
blown  flowers  among  the  opening  buds,  with  that  con 
scious  look  upon  their  faces  which  so  many  women 
wear  during  the  period  when  they  never  meet  a  single 
man  without  having  his  monosyllable  ready  for  him, 
—  tied  as  they  are,  poor  things !  on  the  rock  of  expec 
tation,  each  of  them  an  Andromeda  waiting  for  her 
Perseus. 

"  Who  is  that  girl  in  ringlets,  —  the  fourth  in  the 
third  row  on  the  right?"  said  Master  Langdon. 

"Charlotte  Ann  Wood,"  said  Miss  Darley;  — 
"writes  very  pretty  poems." 

"Oh!  —  And  the  pink  one,  three  seats  from  her? 
Looks  bright;  anything  in  her ?" 

"  Emma  Dean,  —  day-scholar,  —  Squire  Dean's 
daughter,  — nice  girl,  — second  medal  last  year." 

The  master  asked  these  two  questions  in  a  careless 
kind  of  way,  and  did  not  seem  to  pay  any  too  much 
attention  to  the  answers. 

"And  who  and  what  is  that,"  he  said,  —  "sit 
ting  a  little  apart  there,  —  that  strange,  wild-looking 
girl?'/ 

This  time  he  put  the  real  question  he  wanted  an- 


52  ELSIE   VENNER. 

swered;  —  the  other  two  were  asked  at  random,  as 
masks  for  the  third. 

The  lady- teacher' s  face  changed;  —  one  would  have 
said  she  was  frightened  or  troubled.  She  looked  at 
the  girl  doubtfully,  as  if  she  might  hear  the  master's 
question  and  its  answer.  But  the  girl  did  not  look 
up ;  —  she  was  winding  a  gold  chain  about  her  wrist, 
and  then  uncoiling  it,  as  if  in  a  kind  of  reverie. 

Miss  Darley  drew  close  to  the  master  and  placed  her 
hand  so  as  to  hide  her  lips.  "Don't  look  at  her  as  if 
we  were  talking  about  her,"  she  whispered  softly;  — 
"that  is  Elsie  Venner." 


CHAPTER  V. 

AN  OLD-FASHIONED   DESCRIPTIVE   CHAPTER. 

IT  was  a  comfort  to  get  to  a  place  with  something 
like  society,  with  residences  which  had  pretensions  to 
elegance,  with  people  of  some  breeding,  with  a  news 
paper,  and  "stores"  to  advertise  in  it,  and  with  two 
or  three  churches  to  keep  each  other  alive  by  whole 
some  agitation.  Rockland  was  such  a  place. 

Some  of  the  natural  features  of  the  town  have  been 
described  already.  The  Mountain,  of  course,  was 
what  gave  it  its  character,  and  redeemed  it  from 
wearing  the  commonplace  expression  which  belongs  to 
ordinary  country-villages.  Beautiful,  wild,  invested 
with  the  mystery  which  belongs  to  untrodden  spaces, 
and  with  enough  of  terror  to  give  it  dignity,  it  had 
yet  closer  relations  with  the  town  over  which  it 
brooded  than  the  passing  stranger  knew  of.  (  Thus,  it 
made  a  local  climate  by  cutting  off  the  northern  winds 
and  holding  the  sun's  heat  like  a  garden -wall.  Peach- 
trees,  which,  on  the  northern  side  of  the  mountain, 
hardly  ever  came  to  fruit,  ripened  abundant  crops  in 
Rockland. 

But  there  was  still  another  relation  between  the 
mountain  and  the  town  at  its  foot,  which  strangers 
were  not  likely  to  hear  alluded  to,  and  which  was 
oftener  thought  of  than  spoken  of  by  its  inhabitants. 
Those  high-impending  f  '  "^-n^ers,"  as  White 
of  Selborne  would  ha  e  called  them,  —  sloping  far 


54  ELSIE  VENNER. 

upward  and  backward  into  the  distance,  had  always 
an  air  of  menace  blended  with  their  wild  beauty.  It 
seemed  as  if  some  heaven-scaling  Titan  had  thrown 
his  shaggy  robe  over  the  bare,  precipitous  flanks  of 
the  rocky  summit,  and  it  might  at  any  moment  slide 
like  a  garment  flung  carelessly  on  the  nearest  chance- 
support,  and,  so  sliding,  crush  the  village  out  of 
being,  as  the  Rossberg  when  it  tumbled  over  on  the 
valley  of  Goldau. 

Persons  have  been  known  to  remove  from  the  place, 
after  a  short  residence  in  it,  because  they  were 
haunted  day  and  night  by  the  thought  of  this  awful 
green  wall  piled  up  into  the  air  over  their  heads. 
They  would  lie  awake  of  nights,  thinking  they  heard 
the  muffled  snapping  of  roots,  as  if  a  thousand  acres 
of  the  mountain-side  were  tugging  to  break  away,  like 
the  snow  from  a  house-roof,  and  a  hundred  thousand 
trees  were  clinging  with  all  their  fibres  to  hold  back 
the  soil  just  ready  to  peel  away  and  crash  down  with 
all  its  rocks  and  forest-growths.  And  yet,  by  one  of 
those  strange  contradictions  we  are  constantly  finding 
in  human  nature,  there  were  natives  of  the  town  who 
would  come  back  thirty  or  forty  years  after  leaving  it, 
just  to  nestle  under  this  same  threatening  mountain 
side,  as  old  men  sun  themselves  against  southward- 
facing  walls.  The  old  dreams  and  legends  of  danger 
added  to  the  attraction.  If  the  mountain  should  ever 
slide,  they  had  a  kind  of  feeling  as  if  they  ought  to  be 
there.  It  was  a  fascination  like  that  which  the  rattle 
snake  is  said  to  exert. 

This  comparison  naturally  suggests  the  recollection 
of  that  other  source  of  danger  which  was  an  element 
in  the  every-day  life  of  the  Rockland  people.  The 
folks  in  some  of  the  neighboring  towns  had  a  joke 


ELSIE   VENNER.  55 

against  them,  that  a  Rocklander  could  n't  hear  a  bean- 
pod  rattle  without  saying,  "The  Lord  have  mercy  on 
us!  "  It  is  very  true,  that  many  a  nervous  old  lady 
has  had  a  terrible  start,  caused  by  some  mischievous 
young  rogue's  giving  a  sudden  shake  to  one  of  these 
noisy  vegetable  products  in  her  immediate  vicinity,, 
Yet,  strangely  enough,  many  persons  missed  the  ex= 
citement  of  the  possibility  of  a  fatal  bite  in  other  re= 
gions,  where  there  were  nothing  but  black  and  green 
and  striped  snakes,  mean  ophidians,  having  the  spite 
of  •  the  nobler  serpent  without  his  venom,  —  poor 
crawling  creatures,  whom  Nature  would  not  trust  with 
a  poison-bag.  Many  natives  of  Rockland  did  unques 
tionably  experience  a  certain  gratification  in  this  infin 
itesimal  sense  of  danger.  It  was  noted  that  the  old 
people  retained  their  hearing  longer  than  in  other 
places.  Some  said  it  was  the  softened  climate,  but 
others  believed  it  was  owing  to  the  habit  of  keeping 
their  ears  open  whenever  they  were  walking  through 
the  grass  or  in  the  woods.  At  any  rate,  a  slight 
sense  of  danger  is  often  an  agreeable  stimulus. 
People  sip  their  creme  de  noyau  with  a  peculiar  trem 
ulous  pleasure,  because  there  is  a  bare  possibility  that 
it  may  contain  prussic  acid  enough  to  knock  them 
over;  in  which  case  they  will  lie  as  dead  as  if  a 
thunder-cloud  had  emptied  itself  into  the  earth 
through  their  brain  and  marrow. 

But  Rockland  had  other  features  which  helped  to 
give  it  a  special  character.  First  of  all,  there  was  one 
grand  street  which  was  its  chief  glory.  Elm  Street 
it  was  called,  naturally  enough,  for  its  elms  made  a 
long,  pointed-arched  gallery  of  it  through  most  of  its 
extent.  No  natural  Gothic  arch  compares,  for  a  mo 
ment,  with  that  formed  by  two  American  elms,  where 


66  ELSIE   VENNER. 

their  lofty  jets  of  foliage  shoot  across  each  other's  as 
cending  curves,  to  intermingle  their  showery  flakes  of 
green.  When  one  looks  through  a  long  double  row  of 
these,  as  in  that  lovely  avenue  which  the  poets  of  Yale 
remember  so  well,  — 

"  Oh,  could  the  vista  of  my  life  but  now  as  bright  appear 
As  when  I  first  through  Temple  Street  looked  down  thine 
espalier  !  " 

he  beholds  a  temple  not  built  with  hands,  fairer  than 
any  minster,  with  all  its  clustered  stems  and  flowering 
capitals,  that  ever  grew  in  stone. 

Nobody  knows  New  England  who  is  not  on  terms  of 
intimacy  with  one  of  its  elms.  The  elm  comes  nearer 
to  having  a  soul  than  any  other  vegetable  creature 
among  us.  It  loves  man  as  man  loves  it.  It  is  mod 
est  and  patient.  It  has  a  small  flake  of  a  seed  which 
blows  in  everywhere  and  makes  arrangements  for  com 
ing  up  by  and  by.  So,  in  spring,  one  finds  a  crop  of 
baby-elms  among  his  carrots  and  parsnips,  very  weak 
and  small  compared  to  those  succulent  vegetables. 
The  baby-elms  die,  most  of  them,  slain,  unrecognized 
or  unheeded,  by  hand  or  hoe,  as  meekly  as  Herod's 
innocents.  One  of  them  gets  overlooked,  perhaps, 
until  it  has  established  a  kind  of  right  to  stay.  Three 
generations  of  carrot  and  parsnip  consumers  have 
passed  away,  yourself  among  them,  and  now  let  your 
great-grandson  look  for  the  baby-elm.  Twenty-two 
feet  of  clean  girth,  three  hundred  and  sixty  feet  in  the 
line  that  bounds  its  leafy  circle,  it  covers  the  boy 
with  such  a  canopy  as  neither  glossy -leafed  oak  nor 
insect-haunted  linden  ever  lifted  into  \the  summer 
skies. 

Elm  Street  was  the  pride  of  Rockland,  but  not  only 
on  account  of  its  Gothic  -arched  vista.  In  this  street 


ELSIE   VENNER.  57 

were  most  of  the  great  houses,  or  "mansion-houses," 
as  it  was  usual  to  call  them.  Along  this  street,  also, 
the  more  nicely  kept  and  neatly  painted  dwellings 
were  chiefly  congregated.  •;  It  was  the  correct  thing  for 
a  Rockland  dignitary  to  have  a  house  in  Elm  Street. 

A  New  England  "mansion-house"  is  naturally 
square,  with  dormer  windows  projecting  from  the 
roof,  which  has  a  balustrade  with  turned  posts  round 
it.  It  shows  a  good  breadth  of  front-yard  before  its 
door,  as  its  owner  shows  a  respectable  expanse  of 
clean  shirt-front.  It  has  a  lateral  margin  beyond  its 
stables  and  offices,  as  its  master  wears  his  white  wrist 
bands  showing  beyond  his  coat-cuffs.  It  may  not 
have  what  can  properly  be  called  grounds,  but  it  must 
have  elbow-room,  at  any  rate.  Without  it,  it  is  like 
a  man  who  is  always  tight-buttoned  for  want  of  any 
linen  to  show.  The  mansion-house  which  has  had  to 
button  itself  up  tight  in  fences,  for  want  of  green  or 
gravel  margin,  will  be  advertising  for  boarders  pres 
ently.  The  old  English  pattern  of  the  New  England 
mansion-house,  only  on  a  somewhat  grander  scale,  is 
Sir  Thomas  Abney's  place,  where  dear,  good  Dr. 
Watts  said  prayers  for  the  family,  and  wrote  those 
blessed  hymns  of  his  that  sing  us  into  consciousness 
in  our  cradles,  and  come  back  to  us  in  sweet,  single 
verses,  between  the  moments  of  wandering  and  of 
stupor,  when  we  lie  dying,  and  sound  over  us  when 
we  can  no  longer  hear  them,  bringing  grateful  tears 
to  the  hot,  :  ching  1--  ath  the  thick,  black  veils, 
and  carry  in  >  the  holy  calm  with  them  which  filled  the 
good  man's  heart,  as  )«•  ayed  and  sung  under  the 
shelter  of  tl  old  En  *!  ansioii-house. 

Ne  )  ises,  came  the  two-story 

trim,  te  tel"  houses,  which,  being 


58  ELSIE  VENNER. 

more  gossipy  and  less  nicely  bred,  crowded  close  up 
to  the  street,  instead  of  standing  back  from  it  with 
arms  akimbo,  like  the  mansion-houses.  Their  little 
front-yards  were  very  commonly  full  of  lilac  and  sy- 
ringa  and  other  bushes,  which  were  allowed  to  smother 
the  lower  story  almost  to  the  exclusion  of  light  and  air, 
so  that,  what  with  small  windows  and  small  window- 
panes,  and  the  darkness  made  by  these  choking 
growths  of  shrubbery,  the  front  parlors  of  some  of 
these  houses  were  the  most  tomb-like,  melancholy 
places  that  could  be  found  anywhere  among  the 
abodes  of  the  living.  Their  garnishing  was  apt  to 
assist  this  impression.  Large-patterned  carpets, 
which  always  look  discontented  in  little  rooms,  hair 
cloth  furniture,  black  and  shiny  as  beetles'  wing  cases, 
and  centre-tables,  with  a  sullen  oil-lamp  of  the  kind 
called  astral  by  our  imaginative  ancestors,  in  the  cen 
tre,  —  these  things  were  inevitable.  In  set  piles  round 
the  lamp  was  ranged  the  current  literature  of  the  day, 
in  the  form  of  Temperance  Documents,  unbound  num 
bers  of  one  of  the  Unknown  Public's  Magazines  with 
worn-out  steel  engravin  and  high-colored  fashion- 
plates,  the  Poems  of  a  distiugui  hed  British  author 
whom  it  is  unnecessary  to  men  n,  a  volume  of  ser 
mons,  or  a  novel  or  two,  or  both,  according  to  the 
tastes  of  the  family,  and  the  Good  Book,  which  is  al 
ways  Itself  in  the  cheapest  an<.  nmonest  company. 
The  father  of  the  family  with  his  htuid  in  the  breast  of 
his  coat,  the  mother  of  the  same  in  a  wide-bordered 
cap,  sometimes  a  print  of  the  L;,st  Supper,  by  no 
means  Morghen's,  or  th  Fat]  >f  his  Country,  or 
the  old  General,  or  the  I  ferrder  o  ;  the  Constitution, 
or  an  unknown  clergyman  with  ar/  open  book  before 
him,  —  these  were  the  us  ents  of  the  walls, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  59 

the  first  two  a  matter  of  rigor,  the  others  according 
to  politics  and  other  tendencies. 

This  intermediate  class  of  houses,  wherever  one  finds 
them  in  New  England  towns,  are  very  apt  to  be 
cheerless  and  unsatisfactory.  They  have  neither  the 
luxury  of  the  mansion-house  nor  the  comfort  of  the 
farm-house.  They  are  rarely  kept  at  an  agreeable 
temperature.  The  mansion-house  has  large  fireplaces 
and  generous  chimneys,  and  is  open  to  the  sunshine. 
The  farm-house  makes  no  pretensions,  but  it  has  a 
good  warm  kitchen,  at  any  rate,  and  one  can  be  com 
fortable  there  with  the  rest  of  the  family,  without  fear 
and  without  reproach.  These  lesser  country-houses  of 
genteel  aspirations  are  much  given  to  patent  subter 
fuges  of  one  kind  and  another  to  get  heat  without  com 
bustion.  The  chilly  parlor  and  the  slippery  hair-cloth 
seat  take  the  life  out  of  the  warmest  welcome.  If  one 
would  make  these  places  wholesome,  happy,  and 
cheerful,  the  first  precept  would  be,  —  The  dearest 
fuel,  plenty  of  it,  and  let  half  the  heat  go  up  the  chim 
ney.  If  you  can't  afford  this,  don't  try  to  live  in  a 
"genteel "  fashion,  but  stick  to  the  ways  of  the  honest 
farm-house. 

There  were  a  good  many  comfortable  farm-houses 
scattered  about  Rockland.  The  best  of  them  were 
something  of  the  following  pattern,  which  is  too  often 
superseded  of  late  by  a  more  pretentious,  but  infinitely 
less  pleasing  kind  of  rustic  architecture.  A  little 
back  from  the  road,  seated  directly  on  the  green  sod, 
rose  a  plain  wooden  building,  two  stories  in  front, 
with  a  long  roof  sloping  backwards  to  within  a  few 
feet  of  the  ground.  This,  like  the  "mansion -house," 
is  copied  from  an  old  English  pattern.  Cottages  of 
this  model  may  be  seen  in  Lancashire,  for  instance, 


60  ELSIE    VENNER. 

always  with  the  same  honest,  homely  look,  as  if  their 
roofs  acknowledged  their  relationship  to  the  soil  out  of 
which  they  sprung.  The  walls  were  unpainted,  but 
turned  by  the  slow  action  of  sun  and  air  and  rain  to 
a  quiet  dove  or  slate  color.  An  old  broken  mill 
stone  at  the  door,  —  a  well-sweep  pointing  like  a  fin 
ger  to  the  heavens,  which  the  shining  round  of  water 
beneath  looked  up  at  like  a  dark  unsleeping  eye,  —  a 
single  large  elm  a  little  at  one  side,  —  a  barn  twice  as 
big  as  the  house,  —  a  cattle-yard,  with 

"  The  white  horns  tossing  above  the  wall,"  — 

some  fields,  in  pasture  or  in  crops,  with  low  stone 
walls  round  them,  —  a  row  of  beehives,  —  a  garden- 
patch,  with  roots,  and  currant-bushes,  and  many-hued 
hollyhocks,  and  swollen-stemmed,  globe-headed,  seed 
ling  onions,  and  marigolds  and  flower-de-luces,  and 
lady's-delights,  and  peonies,  crowding  in  together, 
with  southernwood  in  the  borders,  and  woodbine  and 
hops  and  morning-glories  climbing  as  they  got  a 
chance,  —  these  were  the  features  by  which  the  Kock- 
land-born  children  remembered  the  farm-house,  when 
they  had  grown  to  be  men.  Such  are  the  recollections 
that  come  over  poor  sailor-boys  crawling  out  on  reel 
ing  yards  to  reef  topsails  as  their  vessels  stagger  round 
the  stormy  Cape;  and  such  are  the  flitting  images 
that  make  the  eyes  of  old  country -born  merchants  look 
dim  and  dreamy,  as  they  sit  in  their  city  palaces, 
warm  with  the  after-dinner  flush  of  the  red  wave  out 
of  which  Memory  arises,  as  Aphrodite  arose  from  the 
green  waves  of  the  ocean. 

Two  meeting-houses  stood  on  two  eminences,  facing 
each  other,  and  looking  like  a  couple  of  fighting-cocks 
with  their  necks  straight  up  in  the  air,  —  as  if  they 


ELSIE   VENNER.  61 

would  flap  their  roofs,  the  next  thing,  and  crow  out  of 
their  upstretched  steeples,  and  peck  at  each  other's 
glass  eyes  with  their  sharp-pointed  weathercocks. 

The  first  was  a  good  pattern  of  the  real  old-fash 
ioned  New  England  meeting-house.  It  was  a  large 
barn  with  windows,  fronted  by  a  square  tower 
crowned  with  a  kind  of  wooden  bell  inverted  and. 
raised  on  legs,  out  of  which  rose  a  slender  spire  with 
the  sharp-billed  weathercock  at  its  summit.  Inside, 
tall,  square  pews  with  flapping  seats,  and  a  gallery 
running  round  three  sides  of  the  building.  On  the 
fourth  side  the  pulpit,  with  a  huge,  dusty  sounding- 
board  hanging  over  it.  Here  preached  the  Reverend 
Pierrepont  Honeywood,  D.  D.,  successor,  after  a 
number  of  generations,  to  the  office  and  the  parsonage 
of  the  Reverend  Didymus  Bean,  before  mentioned, 
but  not  suspected  of  any  of  his  alleged  heresies.  He 
held  to  the  old  faith  of  the  Puritans,  and  occasionally 
delivered  a  discourse  which  was  considered  by  the 
hard-headed  theologians  of  his  parish  to  have  settled 
the  whole  matter  fully  and  finally,  so  that  now  there 
was  a  good  logical  basis  laid  down  for  the  Millen 
nium,  which  might  begin  at  once  upon  the  platform 
of  his  demonstrations.  Yet  the  Reverend  Dr.  Hon 
eywood  was  fonder  of  preaching  plain,  practical  ser 
mons  about  the  duties  of  life,  and  showing  his  Chris 
tianity  in  abundant  good  works  among  his  people.  It 
was  noticed  by  some  few  of  his  flock,  not  without  com 
ment,  that  the  great  majority  of  his  texts  came  from 
the  Gospels,  and  this  more  and  more  as  he  became 
interested  in  various  benevolent  enterprises  which 
brought  him  into  relations  with  ministers  and  kind- 
hearted  laymen  of  other  denominations.  He  was  in 
fact  a  man  of  a  very  warm,  open,  and  exceedingly 


62  ELSIE   VENNER. 

human  disposition,  and,  although  bred  by  a  clerical 
father,  whose  motto  was  "  Sit  anima  mea  cum  Puri- 
tanis,"  he  exercised  his  human  faculties  in  the  harness 
of  his  ancient  faith  with  such  freedom  that  the  straps 
of  it  got  so  loose  they  did  not  interfere  greatly  with 
the  circulation  of  the  warm  blood  through  his  system. 
Once  in  a  while  he  seemed  to  think  it  necessary  to 
come  out  with  a  grand  doctrinal  sermon,  and  then  he 
would  lapse  away  for  a  while  into  preaching  on  men's 
duties  to  each  other  and  to  society,  and  hit  hard,  per 
haps,  at  some  of  the  actual  vices  of  the  time  and  place, 
and  insist  with  such  tenderness  and  eloquence  on  the 
great  depth  and  breadth  of  true  Christian  love  and 
charity,  that  his  oldest  deacon  shook  his  head,  and 
wished  he  had  shown  as  much  interest  when  he  was 
preaching,  three  Sabbaths  back,  on  Predestination, 
or  in  his  discourse  against  the  Sabellians.  But  he 
was  sound  in  the  faith ;  no  doubt  of  that.  Did  he 
not  preside  at  the  council  held  in  the  town  of  Tama 
rack,  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain,  which  ex 
pelled  its  clergyman  for  maintaining  heretical  doc 
trines?  As  presiding  officer,  he  did  not  vote,  of 
course,  but  there  was  no  doubt  that  he  was  all  right; 
he  had  some  of  the  Edwards  blood  in  him,  and  that 
could  n't  very  well  let  him  go  wrong. 

The  meeting-house  on  the  other  and  opposite  sum 
mit  was  of  a  more  modern  style,  considered  by  many 
a  great  improvement  on  the  old  New  England  model, 
so  that  it  is  not  uncommon  for  a  country  parish  to 
pull  down  its  old  meeting-house,  which  has  been 
preached  in  for  a  hundred  years  or  so,  and  put  up 
one  of  these  more  elegant  edifices.  The  new  build 
ing  was  in  what  may  be  called  the  florid  shingle- 
Gothic  manner.  Its  pinnacles  and  crockets  and 


ELoi-ti    v  jum'N  J&.K.  Oti 

other  ornaments  were,  like  the  body  of  the  building, 
all  of  pine  wood,  —  an  admirable  material,  as  it  is 
very  soft  and  easily  worked,  and  can  be  painted  of 
any  color  desired.  Inside,  the  walls  were  stuccoed 
in  imitation  of  stone,  —  Arst  a  dark  brown  square, 
then  two  light  brown  squares,  then  another  dark 
brown  square,  and  so  on,  to  represent  the  accidental 
differences  of  shade  always  noticeable  in  the  real 
stones  of  which  walls  are  built.  To  be  sure,  the  ar 
chitect  could  not  help  getting  his  party-colored 
squares  in  almost  as  regular  rhythmical  order  as  those 
of  a  chess-board ;  but  nobody  can  avoid  doing  things 
in  a  systematic  and  serial  way;  indeed,  people  who 
wish  to  plant  trees  in  natural  clumps  know  very  well 
that  they  cannot  keep  from  making  regular  lines  and 
symmetrical  figures,  unless  by  some  trick  or  other,  as 
that  one  of  throwing  a  peck  of  potatoes  up  into  the 
air  and  sticking  in  a  tree  wherever  a  potato  happens 
to  fall.  The  pews  of  this  meeting-house  were  the 
usual  oblong  ones,  where  people  sit  close  together, 
with  a  ledge  before  them  to  support  their  hymn-books, 
liable  only  to  occasional  contact  with  the  back  of  the 
next  pew's  heads  or  bonnets,  and  a  place  running 
under  the  seat  of  that  pew  where  hats  could  be  de 
posited,  —  always  at  the  risk  of  the  owner,  in  case  of 
injury  by  boots  or  crickets. 

In  this  meeting-house  preached  the  Reverend 
Chauncy  Fair  weather,  a  divine  of  the  "Liberal" 
school,  as  it  is  commonly  called,  bred  at  that  famous 
college  which  used  to  be  thought,  twenty  or  thirty 
years  ago,  to  have  the  monopoly  of  training  young 
men  in  the  milder  forms  of  heresy.  His  ministra 
tions  were  attended  with  decency,  but  not  followed 
with  enthusiasm.  "The  beauty  of  virtue"  got  to  be 


64  ELSIE   VENNER. 

an  old  story  at  last.  "The  moral  dignity  of  human 
nature  "  ceased  to  excite  a  thrill  of  satisfaction,  after 
some  hundred  repetitions.  It  grew  to  be  a  dull  busi 
ness,  this  preaching  against  stealing  and  intemper 
ance,  while  he  knew  very  well  that  the  thieves  were 
prowling  round  orchards  and  empty  houses,  instead  of 
being  there  to  hear  the  sermon,  and  that  the  drunk 
ards,  being  rarely  church-goers,  get  little  good  by  the 
statistics  and  eloquent  appeals  of  the  preacher. 
Every  now  and  then,  however,  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Fairweather  let  off  a  polemic  discourse  against  his 
neighbor  opposite,  which  waked  his  people  up  a  little ; 
but  it  was  a  languid  congregation,  at  best,  —  very  apt 
to  stay  away  from  meeting  in  the  afternoon,  and  not 
at  all  given  to  extra  evening  services.  The  minister, 
unlike  his  rival  of  the  other  side  of  the  way,  was  a 
down-hearted  and  timid  kind  of  man.  He  went  on 
preaching  as  he  had  been  taught  to  preach,  but  he 
had  misgivings  at  times.  There  was  a  little  Roman 
Catholic  church  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  where  his  own 
was  placed,  which  he  always  had  to  pass  on  Sundays. 
He  could  never  look  on  the  thronging  multitudes  that 
crowded  its  pews  and  aisles  or  knelt  bare-headed  on 
its  steps,  without  a  longing  to  get  in  among  them  and 
go  down  on  his  knees  and  enjoy  that  luxury  of  devo 
tional  contact  which  makes  a  worshipping  throng  as 
different  from  the  same  numbers  praying  apart  as  a 
bed  of  coals  is  from  a  trail  of  scattered  cinders. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  but  huddle  in  with  those  poor  la 
borers  and  working-women!  "  he  would  say  to  himself. 
"If  I  could  but  breathe  that  atmosphere,  stifling 
though  it  be,  yet  made  holy  by  ancient  litanies,  and 
cloudy  with  the  smoke  of  hallowed  incense,  for  one 
hour,  instead  of  droning  over  these  moral  precepts  to 


ELSIE   VENNER.  65 

my  half -sleeping  congregation!"  The  intellectual 
isolation  of  his  sect  preyed  upon  him ;  for,  of  all  ter 
rible  things  to  natures  like  his,  the  most  terrible  is  to 
belong  to  a  minority.  No  person  that  looked  at  his 
thin  and  sallow  cheek,  his  sunken  and  sad  eye,  his 
tremulous  lip,  his  contracted  forehead,  or  who  heard 
his  querulous,  though  not  unmusical  voice,  could  fail 
to  see  that  his  life  was  an  uneasy  one,  that  he  was 
engaged  in  some  inward  conflict.  His  dark,  melan- 

O     O 

cholic  aspect  contrasted  with  his  seemingly  cheerful 
creed,  and  was  all  the  more  striking,  as  the  worthy 
Dr.  Honeywood,  professing  a  belief  which  made  him 
a  passenger  on  board  a  shipwrecked  planet,  was  yet 
a  most  good-humored  and  companionable  gentleman, 
whose  laugh  on  week-days  did  one  as  much  good  to 
listen  to  as  the  best  sermon  he  ever  delivered  on  a 
Sunday. 

A  mile  or  two  from  the  centre  of  Rockland  was 
a  pretty  little  Episcopal  church,  with  a  roof  like  a 
wedge  of  cheese,  a  square  tower,  a  stained  window, 
and  a  trained  rector,  who  read  the  service  with  such 
ventral  depth  of  utterance  and  rrreduplication  of  the 
rrresonant  letter,  that  his  own  mother  would  not  have 
known  him  for  her  son,  if  the  good  woman  had  not 
ironed  his  surplice  and  put  it  on  with  her  own  hands. 

There  were  two  public-houses  in  the  place:  one 
dignified  with  the  name  of  the  Mountain  House,  some 
what  frequented  by  city  people  in  the  summer  months, 
large-fronted,  three-storied,  balconied,  boasting  a  dis 
tinct  ladies '-drawing-room,  and  spreading  a  table 
d'hote  of  some  pretensions;  the  other,  "Pollard's 
Tahvern,"  in  the  common  speech,  — a  two-story  build 
ing,  with  a  bar-room,  once  famous,  where  there  was 
a  great  smell  of  hay  and  boots  and  pipes  and  all  other 


66  ELSIE   VENNER. 

bucolic-flavored  elements,  —  where  games  of  checkers 
were  played  on  the  back  of  the  bellows  with  red  and 
white  kernels  of  corn,  or  with  beans  and  coffee,  — 
where  a  man  slept  in  a  box-settle  at  night,  to  wake 
up  early  passengers,  —  where  teamsters  came  in,  with 
wooden-handled  whips  and  coarse  frocks,  reinforcing 
the  bucolic  flavor  of  the  atmosphere,  and  middle-aged 
male  gossips,  sometimes  including  the  squire  of  the 
neighboring  law-office,  gathered  to  exchange  a  ques 
tion  or  two  about  the  news,  and  then  fall  into  that 
solemn  state  of  suspended  animation  which  the  tem 
perance  bar-rooms  of  modern  days  produce  in  human 
beings,  as  the  Grotta  del  Cane  does  in  dogs  in  the 
well-known  experiments  related  by  travellers.  This 
bar-room  used  to  be  famous  for  drinking  and  story 
telling,  and  sometimes  fighting,  in  old  times.  That 
was  when  there  were  rows  of  decanters  on  the  shelf 
behind  the  bar,  and  a  hissing  vessel  of  hot  water 
ready,  to  make  punch,  and  three  or  four  loggerheads 
(long  irons  clubbed  at  the  end)  were  always  lying  in 
the  fire  in  the  cold  season,  waiting  to  be  plunged  into 
sputtering  and  foaming  mugs  of  flip,  —  a  goodly  com 
pound,  speaking  according  to  the  flesh,  made  with 
beer  and  sugar,  and  a  certain  suspicion  of  strong  wa 
ters,  over  which  a  little  nutmeg  being  grated,  and  in 
it  the  hot  iron  being  then  allowed  to  sizzle,  there  re 
sults  a  peculiar  singed  aroma,  which  the  wise  regard 
as  a  warning  to  remove  themselves  at  once  out  of  the 
reach  of  temptation. 

But  the  bar  of  Pollard's  Tahvern  no  longer  pre 
sented  its  old  attractions,  and  the  loggerheads  had 
long  disappeared  from  the  fire.  In  place  of  the  de 
canters,  were  boxes  containing  "lozengers,"  as  they 
were  commonly  called,  sticks  of  candy  in  jars,  cigars 


ELSIE  VENNER.  67 

in  tumblers,  a  few  lemons,  grown  hard-skinned  and 
marvellously  shrunken  by  long  exposure,  but  still 
feebly  suggestive  of  possible  lemonade,  —  the  whole 
ornamented  by  festoons  of  yellow  and  blue  cut  fly 
paper.  On  the  front  shelf  of  the  bar  stood  a  large 
German-silver  pitcher  of  water,  and  scattered  about 
were  ill-conditioned  lamps,  with  wicks  that  always 
wanted  picking,  which  burned  red  and  smoked  a  good 
deal,  and  were  apt  to  go  out  without  any  obvious 
cause,  leaving  strong  reminiscences  of  the  whale-fish 
ery  in  the  circumambient  air. 

The  common  schoolhouses  of  Rockland  were  dwarfed 
by  the  grandeur  of  the  Apollinean  Institute.  The 
master  passed  one  of  them,  in  a  walk  he  was  taking, 
soon  after  his  arrival  at  Rocldand.  He  looked  in  at 
the  rows  of  desks,  and  recalled  his  late  experiences. 
He  could  not  help  laughing,  as  he  thought  how  neatly 
he  had  knocked  the  young  butcher  off  his  pins. 

" '  A  little  science  is  a  dangerous  thing,' 

as  well  as  a  little  'learning,'"  he  said  to  himself; 
"only  it 's  dangerous  to  the  fellow  you  try  it  on." 
And  he  cut  him  a  good  stick,  and  began  climbing 
the  side  of  The  Mountain  to  get  a  look  at  that  famous 
Rattlesnake  Ledge. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  SUNBEAM  AND  THE  SHADOW. 

THE  virtue  of  the  world  is  not  mainly  in  its  leaders. 
In  the  midst  of  the  multitude  which  follows  there  is 
often  something  better  than  in  the  one  that  goes  be 
fore.  Old  generals  wanted  to  take  Toulon,  but  one 
of  their  young  colonels  showed  them  how.  The  junior 
counsel  has  been  known  not  unfrequently  to  make  a 
better  argument  than  his  senior  fellow,  —  if,  indeed, 
he  did  not  make  both  their  arguments.  Good  minis 
ters  will  tell  you  they  have  parishioners  who  beat  them 
in  the  practice  of  the  virtues.  A  great  establishment, 
got  up  on  commercial  principles,  like  the  Apollinean 
Institute,  might  yet  be  well  carried  on,  if  it  happened 
to  get  good  teachers.  And  when  Master  Langdon 
came  to  see  its  management,  he  recognized  that  there 
must  be  fidelity  and  intelligence  somewhere  among 
the  instructors.  It  was  only  necessary  to  look  for  a 
moment  at  the  fair,  open  forehead,  the  still,  tran 
quil  eye  of  gentle,  habitual  authority,  the  sweet  grav 
ity  that  lay  upon  the  lips,  to  hear  the  clear  answers  to 
the  pupils'  questions,  to  notice  how  every  request  had 
the  force  without  the  form  of  a  command,  and  the 
young  man  could  not  doubt  that  the  good  genius  of 
the  school  stood  before  him  in  the  person  of  Helen 
Darley. 

It  was  the  old  story.  A  poor  coun'  i 

dies,  and  leaves  a  widow  and  a  daugl  1 


ELSIE    VEXNER.  69 

England  the  daughter  would  have  eaten  the  bitter 
bread  of  a  governess  in  some  rich  family.  In  New 
England  she  must  keep  a  school.  So,  rising  from 
one  sphere  to  another,  she  at  length  finds  herself  the 
prima  donna  in  the  department  of  instruction  in  Mr. 
Silas  Peckharn's  educational  establishment.  \ 

What  a  miserable  thing  it  is  to  be  poor.  She  was 
dependent,  frail,  sensitive,  conscientious.  She  was  in 
the  power  of  a  hard,  grasping,  thin-blooded,  tough- 
fibred,  trading  educator,  who  neither  knew  nor  cared 
for  a  tender  woman's  sensibilities,  but  who  paid  her 
and  meant  to  have  his  money's  worth  out  of  her 
brains,  and  as  much  more  than  his  money's  worth  as 
he  could  get.  She  was  consequently,  in  plain  Eng 
lish,  overworked,  and  an  overworked  woman  is  always 
a  sad  sight,  —  sadder  a  great  deal  than  an  overworked 
man,  because  she  is  so  much  more  fertile  in  capacities 
of  suffering  than  a  man.  She  has  so  many  varieties 
of  headache,  —  sometimes  as  if  Jael  were  driving  the 
nail  that  killed  Sisera  into  her  temples,  —  sometimes 
letting  her  work  with  half  her  brain  while  the  other 
half  throbs  as  if  it  would  go  to  pieces,  —  sometimes 
tightening  round  the  brows  as  if  her  cap-band  were 
a  ring  of  iron,  —  and  then  her  neuralgias,  and  her 
backaches,  and  her  fits  of  depression,  in  which  she 
thinks  she  is  nothing  and  less  than  nothing,  and  those 
paroxysms  which  men  speak  slightingly  of  as  hysteri 
cal,  —  convulsions,  that  is  all,  only  not  commonly 
fatal  ones,  —  so  many  trials  which  belong  to  her  fine 
and  mobile  structure,  —  that  she  is  always  entitled  to 
pity,  when  she  is  placed  in  conditions  which  develop 
her  nervous  tendencies. 

The  poor  young  lady's  work  had,  of  course,  been 
doubled  since  the  departure  of  Master  Langdon's  pre- 


70  ELSIE   VENNER. 

decessor.  Nobody  knows  what  the  weariness  of  in 
struction  is,  as  soon  as  the  teacher's  faculties  begin 
to  be  overtasked,  but  those  who  have  tried  it.  The 
relays  of  fresh  pupils,  each  new  set  with  its  exhausting 
powers  in  full  action,  coming  one  after  another,  take 
out  all  the  reserved  forces  and  faculties  of  resistance 
from  the  subject  of  their  draining  process. 

The  day's  work  was  over,  and  it  was  late  in  the  even 
ing,  when  she  sat  down,  tired  and  faint,  with  a  great 
bundle  of  girls'  themes  or  compositions  to  read  over 
before  she  could  rest  her  weary  head  on  the  pillow  of 
her  narrow  trundle-bed,  and  forget  for  a  while  the 
treadmill  stair  of  labor  she  was  daily  climbing. 

How  she  dreaded  this  most  forlorn  of  all  a  teach 
er's  tasks !  She  was  conscientious  in  her  duties,  and 
would  insist  on  reading  every  sentence,  —  there  was 
no  saying  where  she  might  find  faults  of  grammar  or 
bad  spelling.  There  might  have  been  twenty  or  thirty 
of  these  themes  in  the  bundle  before  her.  Of  course 
she  knew  -pretty  well  the  leading  sentiments  they 
could  contain :  that  beauty  was  subject  to  the  accidents 
of  time;  that  wealth  was  inconstant,  and  existence 
uncertain ;  that  virtue  was  its  own  reward ;  that  youth 
exhaled,  like  the  dewdrop  from  the  flower,  ere  the 
sun  had  reached  its  meridian ;  that  life  was  o'ershad- 
owed  with  trials ;  that  the  lessons  of  virtue  instilled 
by  our  beloved  teachers  were  to  be  our  guides  through 
all  our  future  career.  The  imagery  employed  con 
sisted  principally  of  roses,  lilies,  birds,  clouds,  and 
brooks,  with  the  celebrated  comparison  of  wayward 
genius  to  a  meteor.  Who  does  not  know  the  small, 
slanted,  Italian  hand  of  these  girls '-compositions,  — 
their  stringing  together  of  the  good  old  traditional 
copy-book  phrases,  their  occasional  gushes  of  senti- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  71 

ment,  their  profound  estimates  of  the  world,  sounding 
to  the  old  folks  that  read  them  as  the  experience  of  a 
bantam  pullet's  last-hatched  young  one  with  the  chips 
of  its  shell  on  its  head  would  sound  to  a  Mother  Gary's 
chicken,  who  knew  the  great  ocean  with  all  its  ty 
phoons  and  tornadoes  ?  Yet  every  now  and  then  one 
is  liable  to  be  surprised  with  strange  clairvoyant 
flashes,  that  can  hardly  be  explained,  except  by  the 
mysterious  inspiration  which  every  now  and  then  seizes 
a  young  girl  and  exalts  her  intelligence,  just  as  hys 
teria  in  other  instances  exalts  the  sensibility,  —  a  lit 
tle  something  of  that  which  made  Joan  of  Arc,  and 
the  Burney  girl  who  prophesied  "Evelina,"  and  the 
Davidson  sisters.  In  the  midst  of  these  common 
place  exercises  which  Miss  Darley  read  over  so  care 
fully  were  two  or  three  that  had  something  of  individ 
ual  flavor  about  them,  and  here  and  there  there  was 
an  image  or  an  epithet  which  showed  the  footprint  of 
a  passionate  nature,  as  a  fallen  scarlet  feather  marks 
the  path  the  wild  flamingo  has  trodden. 

The  young  lady -teacher  read  them  with  a  certain 
indifference  of  manner,  as  one  reads  proofs  —  noting 
defects  of  detail,  but  not  commonly  arrested  by  the 
matters  treated  of.  Even  Miss  Charlotte  Ann  Wood's 
poem,  beginning 

"  How  sweet  at  evening's  balmy  hour," 

did  not  excite  her.  She  marked  the  inevitable  false 
rhyme  of  Cockney  and  Yankee  beginners,  morn  and 
daion,  and  tossed  the  verses  on  the  pile  of  papers  she 
had  finished.  She  was  looking  over  some  of  the  last 
of  them  in  a  rather  listless  way,  —  for  the  poor  thing 
was  getting  sleepy  in  spite  of  herself,  —  when  she 
came  to  one  which  seemed  to  rouse  her  attention,  and 


72  ELSIE    VENNER. 

lifted  her  drooping  lids.  She  looked  at  it  a  moment 
before  she  would  touch  it.  Then  she  took  hold  of  it 
by  one  corner  and  slid  it  off  from  the  rest.  One  would 
have  said  she  was  afraid  of  it,  or  had  some  undefined 
antipathy  which  made  it  hateful  to  her.  Such  odd 
fancies  are  common  enough  in  young  persons  in  her 
nervous  state.  Many  of  these  young  people  will 
jump  up  twenty  times  a  day  and  run  to  dabble  the 
tips  of  their  fingers  in  water,  after  touching  the  most 
inoffensive  objects. 

This  composition  was  written  in  a  singular,  sharp- 
pointed,  long,  slender  hand,  on  a  kind  of  wavy,  ribbed 
paper.  There  was  something  strangely  suggestive 
about  the  look  of  it,  — but  exactly  of  what,  Miss  Dar- 
ley  either  could  not  or  did  not  try  to  think.  The  sub 
ject  of  the  paper  was  The  Mountain,  —  the  composi 
tion  being  a  sort  of  descriptive  rhapsody.  It  showed 
a  startling  familiarity  with  some  of  the  savage  scenery 
of  the  region.  One  would  have  said  that  the  writer 
must  have  threaded  its  wildest  solitudes  by  the  light 
of  the  moon  and  stars  as  well  as  by  day.  As  the 
teacher  read  on,  her  color  changed,  and  a  kind  of 
tremulous  agitation  came  over  her.  There  were  hints 
in  this  strange  paper  she  did  not  know  what  to  make 
of.  There  was  something  in  its  descriptions  and 
imagery  that  recalled,  —  Miss  Darley  could  not  say 
what, — but  it  made  her  frightfully  nervous.  Still 
she  could  not  help  reading,  till  she  came  to  one  pas 
sage  which  so  agitated  her,  that  the  tired  and  over 
wearied  girl's  self-control  left  her  entirely.  She 
sobbed  once  or  twice,  then  laughed  convulsively,  and 
flung  herself  on  the  bed,  where  she  worked  out  a  set 
hysteric  spasm  as  she  best  might,  without  anybody  to 
rub  her  hands  and  see  that  she  did  not  hurt  herself. 


ELSIE   VENNER. 

By  and  by  she  got  quiet,  rose  and  went  to  her  book 
case,  took  down  a  volume  of  Coleridge,  and  read  a 
short  time,  and  so  to  bed,  to  sleep  and  wake  from 
time  to  time  with  a  sudden  start  out  of  uneasy  dreams. 

Perhaps  it  is  of  no  great  consequence  what  it  was  in. 
the  composition  which  set  her  off  into  this  nervous 
paroxysm.  She  was  in  such  a  state  that  almost  any 
slight  agitation  would  have  brought  on  the  attack,  and 
it  was  the  accident  of  her  transient  excitability,  very 
probably,  which  made  a  trifling  cause  the  seeming 
occasion  of  so  much  disturbance.  The  theme  was 
signed,  in  the  same  peculiar,  sharp,  slender  hand,  E. 
Venner,  and  was,  of  course,  written  by  that  wild- 
looking  girl  who  had  excited  the  master's  curiosity 
and  prompted  his  question,  as  before  mentioned. 
The  next  morning  the  lady-teacher  looked  pale  and 
wearied,  naturally  enough,  but  she  was  in  her  place 
at  the  usual  hour,  and  Master  Langdon  in  his  own. 
The  girls  had  not  yet  entered  the  school  room. 

"You  have  been  ill,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Ber 
nard. 

"I  was  not  well  yesterday,"  she  answered.  "I  had 
a  worry  and  a  kind  of  fright.  It  is  so  dreadful  to 
have  the  charge  of  all  these  young  souls  and  bodies. 
Every  young  girl  ought  to  walk  locked  close,  arm  in 
arm,  between  two  guardian  angels.  Sometimes  I 
faint  almost  with  the  thought  of  all  that  I  ought  to 
do,  and  of  my  own  weakness  and  wants.  —  Tell  me, 
are  there  not  natures  born  so  out  of  parallel  with  the 
lines  of  natural  law  that  nothing  short  of  a  miracle 
can  bring  them  right?  " 

Mr.  Bernard  had  speculated  somewhat,  as  all 
thoughtful  persons  of  his  profession  are  forced  to  do, 
on  the  innate  organic  tendencies  with  which  individ- 


74  ELSIE   VENNER. 

uals,  families,  and  races  are  born.  He  replied,  there 
fore,  with  a  smile,  as  one  to  whom  the  question  sug 
gested  a  very  familiar  class  of  facts. 

/"Why,  of  course.  Each  of  us  is  only  the  footing- 
up  of  a  double  column  of  figures  that  goes  back  to  the 
first  pair.  Every  unit  tells,  —  and  some  of  them  are 
plus,  and  some  minus.  If  the  columns  don't  add  up 
right,  it  is  commonly  because  we  can't  make  out  all 
the  figures.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  something  may 
not  be  added  by  Nature  to  make  up  for  losses  and 
keep  the  race  to  its  average,  but  we  are  mainly  no 
thing  but  the  answer  to  a  long  sum  in  addition  and 
subtraction.'^  No  doubt  there  are  people  born  with  im 
pulses  at  every  possible  angle  to  the  parallels  of  Na 
ture,  as  you  call  them.  If  they  happen  to  cut  these 
at  right  angles,  of  course  they  are  beyond  the  reach 
of  common  influences.  Slight  obliquities  are  what  we 
have  most  to  do  with  in  education.  Penitentiaries  and 
insane  asylums  take  care  of  most  of  the  right-angle 
cases.  —  I  am  afraid  I  have  put  it  too  much  like  a 
professor,  and  I  am  only  a  student,  you  know.  Pray, 
what  set  you  to  asking  me  this  ?  Any  strange  cases 
among  the  scholars?  " 

The  meek  teacher's  blue  eyes  met  the  luminous 
glance  that  came  with  the  question.  She,  too,  was  of 
gentle  blood,  —  not  meaning  by  that  that  she  was  of 
any  noted  lineage,  but  that  she  came  of  a  cultivated 
stock,  never  rich,  but  long  trained  to  intellectual  call 
ings.  A  thousand  decencies,  amenities,  reticences, 
graces,  which  no  one  thinks  of  until  he  misses  them, 
are  the  traditional  right  of  those  who  spring  from  such 
families.  And  when  two  persons  of  this  exceptional 
breeding  meet  in  the  midst  of  the  common  mul '*' 
they  seek  each  other's  company  at  once  by  the  I 


75 

law  of  elective  affinity.  It  is  wonderful  how  men  and 
women  know  their  peers.  If  two  stranger  queens, 
sole  survivors  of  two  shipwrecked  vessels,  were  cast, 
half-naked,  on  a  rock  together,  each  would  at  once 
address  the  other  as  "Our  Royal  Sister." 

Helen  Darley  looked  into  the  dark  eyes  of  Bernard 
Langdon  glittering  with  the  light  which  flashed  from 
them  with  his  question.  Not  as  those  foolish,  inno 
cent  country -girls  of  the  small  village  did  she  look  into 
them,  to  be  fascinated  and  bewildered,  but  to  sound 
them  with  a  calm,  steadfast  purpose.  "A  gentle 
man,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  read  his  expression 
and  his  features  with  a  woman's  rapid,  but  exhaust 
ing  glance.  "A  lady,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  met 
her  questioning  look,  —  so  brief,  so  quiet,  yet  so  as 
sured,  as  of  one  whom  necessity  had  taught  to  read 
faces  quickly  without  offence,  as  children  read  the 
faces  of  parents,  as  wives  read  the  faces  of  hard- 
souled  husbands.  All  this  was  but  a  few  seconds' 
work,  and  yet  the  main  point  was  settled.  If  there 
had  been  any  vulgar  curiosity  or  coarseness  of  any 
kind  lurking  in  his  expression,  she  would  have  detected 
it.  If  she  had  not  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face  so  softly 
and  kept  them  there  so  calmly  and  withdrawn  them  so 
quietly,  he  would  not  have  said  to  himself,  "  She  is  a 
lady,"  for  that  word  meant  a  good  deal  to  the  de 
scendant  of  the  courtly  Wentworths  and  the  scholariy 
Langdons. 

"There  are  strange  people  everywhere,  Mr.  Lang 
don,"  she  said,  ''and  I  don't  think  our  schoolroom  is 
an  exception.  I  am  glad  you  believe  in  the  force  of, 
transmitted  tendencies.  It  would  break  my  heart,  if  I 
did  not  think  that  there  are  faults  beyond  the  reach 
of  everything  but  God's  special  grace.  I  should  die, 


76  ELSIE   VENNER. 

if  I  thought  that  my  negligence  or  incapacity  was 
alone  responsible  for  the  errors  and  sins  of  those  I 
have  charge  of.  Yet  there  are  mysteries  I  do  not 
know  how  to  account  for."  She  looked  all  round  the 
schoolroom,  and  then  said,  in  a  whisper,  "Mr.  Lang- 
don,  we  had  a  girl  that  stole,  in  the  school,  not  long 
ago.  Worse  than  that,  we  had  a  girl  who  tried  to 
set  us  on  fire.  Children  of  good  people,  both  of  them. 
And  we  have  a  girl  now  that  frightens  me  so  "  — 

The  door  opened,  and  three  misses  came  in  to  take 
their  seats:  three  types,  as  it  happened,  of  certain 
classes,  into  which  it  would  not  have  been  difficult  to 
distribute  the  greater  number  of  the  girls  in  the 
school.  —  Hannah  Martin.  Fourteen  years  and  three 
months  old.  Short-necked,  thick-waisted,  round- 
cheeked,  smooth,  vacant  forehead,  large,  dull  eyes. 
Looks  good-natured,  with  little  other  expression. 
Three  buns  in  her  bag,  and  a  large  apple.  Has  a 
habit  of  attacking  her  provisions  in  school -hours.  — 
Rosa  Milburn.  Sixteen.  Brunette,  with  a  rareripe 
flush  in  her  cheeks.  Color  comes  and  goes  easily. 
Eyes  wandering,  apt  to  be  downcast.  Moody  at 
times.  Said  to  be  passionate,  if  irritated.  Finished 
in  high  relief.  Carries  shoulders  well  back  and  walks 
well,  as  if  proud  of  her  woman's  life,  with  a  slight 
rocking  movement,  being  one  of  the  wide-flanged  pat 
tern,  but  seems  restless,  —  a  hard  girl  to  look  after. 
Has  a  romance  in  her  pocket,  which  she  means  to 
read  in  school-time.  —  Charlotte  Ann  Wood.  Fif 
teen.  The  poetess  before  mentioned.  Long,  light 
ringlets,  pallid  complexion,  blue  eyes.  Delicate  child, 
half  unfolded.  Gentle,  but  languid  and  despondent. 
Does  not  go  much  with  the  other  girls,  but  reads  a 
good  deal,  especially  poetry,  underscoring  favorite 


ELSIE   VENNER.  77 

>assages.     Writes  a  great  many  verses,  very  fast,  not 
rery  correctly;  full  of  the  usual  human  sentiments, 
ixpressed  in  the  accustomed  phrases.     Undervitalized. 
Sensibilities  not  covered  with  their   normal   integu 
ments.     A  negative  condition,  often  confounded  with 
genius,  and  sometimes  running  into  it.     Young  people^. 
fhofall  out  of  line  through  weakness  of  the  active  / 
'acuities  are  often  confounded  with  those  who  step  out  j 
»f  it  through  strength  of  the  intellectual  ones. 

The  girls  kept  coming  in,  one  after  another,  or  in 
>airs  or  groups,  until  the  schoolroom  was  nearly 
:ull.  Then  there  was  a  little  pause,  and  a  light  step 
*vas  heard  in  the  passage.  The  lady -teacher's  eyes 
urned  to  the  door,  and  the  master's  followed  them  in 
;he  same  direction. 

A  girl  of  about  seventeen  entered.  She  was  tall 
ind  slender,  but  rounded,  with  a  peculiar  undulation 
f  movement,  such  as  one  sometimes  sees  in  perfectly 
untutored  country-girls,  whom  Nature,  the  queen  of 
graces,  has  taken  in  hand,  but  more  commonly  in  con 
nection  with  the  very  highest  breeding  of  the  most 
thoroughly  trained  society.  She  was  a  splendid  scowl 
ing  beauty,  black -browed,  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth 
which  was  always  like  a  surprise  when  her  lips  parted. 
She  wore  a  checkered  dress,  of  a  curious  pattern,  and 
a  camel' s-hair  scarf  twisted  a  little  fantastically  about 
her.  She  went  to  her  seat,  which  she  had  moved  a 
short  distance  apart  from  the  rest,  and,  sitting  down, 
began  playing  listlessly  with  her  gold  chain,  as  was  a 
common  habit  with  her,  coiling  it  and  uncoiling  it 
about  her  slender  wrist,  and  braiding  it  in  with  her 
long,  delicate  fingers.  Presently  she  looked  up. 
Black,  piercing  eyes,  not  large,  —  a  low  forehead,  as 
low  as  that  of  Clytie  in  the  Townley  bust,  —  black 


78  ELSIE   VENNER. 

hair,  twisted  in  heavy  braids,  —  a  face  that  one  could 
not  help  looking  at  for  its  beauty,  yet  that  one  wanted 
to  look  away  from  for  something  in  its  expression,  and 
could  not  for  those  diamond  eyes.  They  were  fixed 
on  the  lady -teacher  now.  The  latter  turned  her  own 
away,  and  let  them  wander  over  the  other  scholars, 
But  they  could  not  help  coming  back  again  for  a  sin 
gle  glance  at  the  wild  beauty.  The  diamond  eyes 
were  on  her  still.  She  turned  the  leaves  of  several 
of  her  books,  as  if  in  search  of  some  passage,  and, 
when  she  thought  she  had  waited  long  enough  to  be 
safe,  once  more  stole  a  quick  look  at  the  dark  girl. 
The  diamond  eyes  were  still  upon  her.  She  put  her 
kerchief  to  her  forehead,  which  had  grown  slightly 
moist;  she  sighed  once,  almost  shivered,  for  she  felt 
cold;  then,  following  some  ill-defined  impulse,  which 
she  could  not  resist,  she  left  her  place  and  went  to  the 
young  girl's  desk. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me,  Elsie  Venner  ?  "  It 
was  a  strange  question  to  put,  for  the  girl  had  not 
signified  that  she  wished  the  teacher  to  come  to  her. 

"Nothing,"  she  said.  "I  thought  I  could  make 
you  come."  The  girl  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  a  kind  of 
half -whisper.  She  did  not  lisp,  yet  her  articulation 
of  one  or  two  consonants  was  not  absolutely  perfect. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  flower,  Elsie?"  said  Miss 
Darley.  It  was  a  rare  alpine  flower,  which  was 
found  only  in  one  spot  among  the  rocks  of  The  Moun 
tain. 

"Where  it  grew,"  said  Elsie  Venner.  "Take  it." 
The  teacher  could  not  refuse  her.  The  girl's  finger 
tips  touched  hers  as  she  took  it.  How  cold  they 
were  for  a  girl  of  such  an  organization ! 

The  teacher  went  back  to  her  seat.     ' 


ELSIE 

excuse  for  quitting  the  schoolroom  soon  afterwards. 
The  first  thing  she  did  was  to  fling  the  flower  into  her 
fireplace  and  rake  the  ashes  over  it.  The  second  was 
to  wash  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  as  if  she  had  been  an 
other  Lady  Macbeth.  A  poor,  overtasked,  nervous 
creature,  —  we  munt  not  think  too  much  of  her  fan 
cies. 

After  school  was  done,  she  finished  the  talk  with 
the  master  which  had  been  so  suddenly  interrupted. 
There  were  things  spoken  of  which  may  prove  inter 
esting  by  and  by,  but  there  are  other  matters  we  must 
first  attend  to. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   EVENT   OF   THE   SEASON. 

"MR.  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Sprowle's  compliments  to 
Mr.  Langdon  and  requests  the  pleasure  of  his  com 
pany  at  a  social  entertainment  on  Wednesday  evening 
next. 

"  Elm  St.    Monday." 

On  paper  of  a  pinkish  color  and  musky  smell,  with 
a  large  §5>  at  the  top,  and  an  embossed  border.  En 
velop  adherent,  not  sealed.  Addressed 

LANGDON  ESQ. 

Present. 

iJrought  by  H.  Frederic  Sprowle,  youngest  son  of 
the  Colonel,  —  the  H.  of  course  standing  for  the  pa 
ternal  Hezekiah,  put  in  to  please  the  father,  and  re 
duced  to  its  initial  to  please  the  mother,  she  having 
a  marked  preference  for  Frederic.  Boy  directed  to 
wait  for  an  answer. 

"Mr.  Langdon  has  the  pleasure  of  accepting  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Colonel  Sprowle's  polite  invitation  for 
Wednesday  evening." 

On  plain  paper,  sealed  with  an  initial. 

in  walking  along  the  main  street,  Mr.  Bernard  had 


ELSIE   VENNER.  81 


noticed  a  large  house  of  some  pretenf  ions  to  architec 
tural  display,  namely,  unnecessarily  projectin  aves, 
giving  it  a  mushroomy  aspect,  wooueii  mouldings  at 
various  available  points,  and  a  gi-ai  1  por 

tico.  It  looked  a  little  swaggering  by  tlw  si-je  of  one 
or  two  of  the  mansion-houses  that  were  not  fir  from 
it,  was  painted  too  bright  for  Mr.  V  ,ste,  had 

rather  too  fanciful  a  fence  before  it,  and  had  some 
fruit-trees  planted  in  the  front  yard,  i  to  this 

fastidious  young  gentleman  imp.-.  tive  sense 

of  the  fitness  of  things,  not  pr.>miv  ft  \n  people  who 
lived  in  so  large  a  house,  with  .1  mushroom  roof  and  a 
triumphal  arch  for  its  entranc 

This  place  was  known  lonei  Sprowle 's 

villa,"  (genteel  friends,)  —  as  "the  int  residence 
of  our  distinguished  fellow-  ael  Sprowle," 

(Rockland  Weekly  Universe,) —  "the  neew 
haouse,"  (old  settlers,)  — ',  Spraowle's  Folly, "(dis 
affected  and  possibly  envious  neighbors,)  —  and  in 
common  discourse,  as  "the  Colonel's." 

Hezekiah  Sprowle,  Es^  el  Sprowle  of  the 

Commonwealth's  Militia,  was  a  retired  "merchant." 
An  India  merchant  he  might,  perhaps,  have  been 
properly  called;  for  he  used  to  deal  in  West  India 
goods,  such  as  coffee,  sugar,  and  molasses,  not  to 
speak  of  rum,  —  also  in  tea,  salt  fish,  butter  and 
cheese,  oil  and  candles,  dried  fruit,  agricultural 
"p'doose"  generally,  industrial  products,  such  as 
boots  and  shoes,  and  various  kinds  of  iron  and  wooden 
ware,  and  at  one  end  of  the  establishment  in  calicoes 
and  other  stuffs,  —  to  say  nothing  of  miscellaneous  ob 
jects  of  the  most  varied  nature,  from  sticks  of  candy, 
which  tempted  in  the  smaller  youth  with  coppers  in 
their  fists,  up  to  ornamental  articles  of  apparel,  pock- 


8i  ELSIE   VENNER. 

ct-  '>pins,  gilt-edged  Bibles,  stationery,  — • 

ill  s  '.  •  ••  •  \iiig  which  was  like  to  prove  seductive 
to  l  ural  ipulation.  The  Colonel  had  made 
mom  in  and  also  by  matrimony.  He  had 

mam  uighter  and  heiress  of  the  late  Tekel 

Jorda  !*<]  ,  )ld  miser,  who  gave  the  town-clock, 
which  lame  to  posterity  in  large  gilt  let 

ters  as  •     enef actor  of  his  native  place.     In 

due  tim  the  Colonel  reaped  the  reward  of  well-placed 
affection;.  When  his  wife's  inheritance  fell  in,  he 
thought  '  e  had  ir  y  enough  to  give  up  trade,  and 
therefore  "store,"  called  in  some  dialects 

of  the  En^      !>  language  shop,  and  his  business. 

Life  bei  hard  work  to  him,  of  course, 

as  soon  as  ,  d  notli  ng  particular  to  do.  Country 
people  with  mey  enough  not  to  have  to  work  are  in 
much  more  danger  than  city  people  in  the  same  con 
dition.  They  get  a  specific  look  and  character,  which 
are  the  same  in  all  the  villages  where  one  studies 
them.  They  very  commonly  fall  into  a  routine,  the 
basis  of  which  is  going  to  some  lounging-place  or 
other,  a  bar-room,  a  reading-room,  or  something  of 
the  kind.  They  grow  slovenly  in  dress,  and  wear  the 
same  hat  forever.  They  have  a  feeble  curiosity  for 
news  perhaps,  which  they  take  daily  as  a  man  takes 
his  bitters,  and  then  fall  silent  and  think  they  are 
thinking.  But  the  mind  goes  out  under  this  regimen. 
like  a  fire  without  a  draught;  and  it  is  not  very 
strange,  if  the  instinct  of  mental  self-preservation 
drives  them  to  brandy-and-water,  which  makes  the 
hoarse  whisper  of  memory  musical  for  a  few  brief 
moments,  and  puts  a  weak  leer  of  promise  on  the  fea 
tures  of  the  hollow-eyed  future.  The  Colonel  was 
kept  pretty  well  in  hand  as  yet  by  his  wife,  and 


ELSIE   VENNER.  83 

though  it  had  happened  to  him  once  or  twice  to  come 
home  rather  late  at  night  with  a  curious  tendency  to 
say  the  same  thing  twice  and  even  three  times  over, 
it  had  always  been  in  very  cold  weather,  —  and  every 
body  knows  that  no  one  is  safe  to  drink  a  couple  of 
glasses  of  wine  in  a  warm  room  and  go  suddenly  out 
into  the  cold  air. 

Miss  Matilda  Sprowle,  sole  daughter  of  the  house, 
had  reached  the  age  at  which  young  ladies  are  sup 
posed  in  technical  language  to  have  come  out,  and 
thereafter  are  considered  to  be  in  company. 

"There  's  one  piece  o'  goods,"  said  the  Colonel  to 
his  wife,  "that  we  ha'n't  disposed  of,  nor  got  a  cus 
tomer  for  yet.  That 's  Matildy.  I  don't  mean  to  set 
her  up  at  vaaiidoo.  I  guess  she  can  have  her  pick  of 
a  dozen." 

"  She  's  never  seen  anybody  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Sprowle, 
who  had  had  a  certain  project  for  some  time,  but  had 
kept  quiet  about  it.  "Let 's  have  a  party,  and  give 
her  a  chance  to  show  herself  and  see  some  of  the 
young  folks." 

The  Colonel  was  not  very  clear-headed,  and  he 
thought,  naturally  enough,  that  the  party  was  his 
own  suggestion,  because  his  remark  led  to  the  first 
starting  of  the  idea.  He  entered  into  the  plan,  there 
fore,  with  a  feeling  of  pride  as  well  as  pleasure,  and 
the  great  project  was  resolved  upon  in  a  family  council 
without  a  dissentient  voice.  This  was  the  party,  then, 
to  which  Mr.  Bernard  was  going.  The  town  had 
been  full  of  it  for  a  week.  "Everybody  was  asked." 
So  everybody  said  that  was  invited.  But  how  in  re 
spect  of  those  who  were  not  asked?  If  it  had  been 
one  of  the  old  mansion-houses  that  was  giving  a  party, 
the  boundary  between  the  favored  and  the  slighted 


84  ELSIE   VENNER. 

families  would  have  been  known  pretty  well  before 
hand,  and  there  would  have  been  no  great  amount  of 
grumbling.  But  the  Colonel,  for  all  his  title,  had  a 
forest  of  poor  relations  and  a  brushwood  swamp  of 
shabby  friends,  for  he  had  scrambled  up  to  fortune, 
and  now  the  time  was  come  when  he  must  define  his 
new  social  position. 

This  is  always  an  awkward  business  in  town  or 
country.  An  exclusive  alliance  between  two  powers 
is  often  the  same  thing  as  a  declaration  of  war  against 
a  third.  Rockland  was  soon  split  into  a  triumphant 
minority,  invited  to  Mrs.  Sprowle's  party,  and  a 
great  majority,  uninvited,  of  which  the  fraction  just 
on  the  border  line  between  recognized  "gentility"  and 
the  level  of  the  ungloved  masses  was  in  an  active  state 
of  excitement  and  indignation. 

"Who  is  she,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Saymore,  the  tailor's  wife.  "There  was  plenty  of 
folks  in  Rockland .  as  good  as  ever  Sally  Jordan  was, 
if  she  had  managed  to  pick  up  a  merchant.  Other 
folks  could  have  married  merchants,  if  their  families 
wasn't  as  wealthy  as  them  old  skinflints  that  willed 
her  their  money, "etc.,  etc.  Mrs.  Saymore  expressed 
the  feeling  of  many  beside  herself.  She  had,  however, 
a  special  right  to  be  proud  of  the  name  she  bore. 
Her  husband  was  own  cousin  to  the  Saymores  of  Free 
stone  Avenue  (who  write  the  name  Seymour,  and 
claim  to  be  of  the  Duke  of  Somerset's  family,  showing 
a  clear  descent  from  the  Protector  to  Edward  Seymour, 
(1630,)  —  then  a  jump  that  would  break  a  herald's 
neck  to  one  Seth  Saymore,  (1783,)  —  from  whom  to 
the  head  of  the  present  family  the  line  is  clear  again). 
Mrs.  Saymore,  the  tailor's  wife,  was  not  invited,  be 
cause  her  husband  mended  clothes.  If  he  had  con- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  85 

fined  himself  strictly  to  making  them,  it  would  have 
put  a  different  face  upon  the  matter. 

The  landlord  of  the  Mountain  House  and  his  lady 
were  invited  to  Mrs.  Sprowle's  party.  Not  so  the 
landlord  of  Pollard's  Tahvern  and  his  lady.  Where 
upon  the  latter  vowed  that  they  would  have  a  party  at 
their  house  too,  and  made  arrangements  for  a  dance 
of  twenty  or  thirty  couples,  to  be  followed  by  an  en 
tertainment.  Tickets  to  this  "Social  Ball "  were  soon 
circulated,  and,  being  accessible  to  all  at  a  moderate 
price,  admission  to  the  "Elegant  Supper"  included, 
this  second  festival  promised  to  be  as  merry,  if  not  as 
select,  as  the  great  party. 

Wednesday  came.     Such  doings    had   never   been 
heard  of  in   Rockland   as  went    on  that  day  at  the 
"villa."     The  carpet  had  been  taken  up  in  the  long 
room,  so  that  the  young  folks  might  have  a  dance. 
Miss  Matilda's  piano  had  been  moved  in,  and  two 
fiddlers  and  a  clarionet-player  engaged  to  make  music. 
All  kinds  of  lamps  had  been  put  in  requisition,  and 
even  .colored  wax-candles  figured  on  the  mantel-pieces. 
The  costumes  of  the  family  had  been  tried  on  the  day 
before:    the  Colonel's   black  suit   fitted   exceedingly 
well;  his  lady's  velvet  dress  displayed  her  contours  to 
advantage;  Miss  Matilda's  flowered  silk  was  consid 
ered  superb;  the  eldest  son  of   the  family,  Mr.   T. 
.    called   affectionately  and  elegantly 
lie,"  voted  himself  "stunnm'  ";  and  even  the 
youth  who  had  borne  Mr.  Bernard's  invitation 
i'oetive  in      aew  jacket  and  trousers,  buttony  in 
front,  and  baggy  in  the  reverse  aspect,  as  is  wont  to 
be  the  case  with  the  home-made  garments  of  inland 
youngsters. 

jreat  preparai  -ons  had  been  made  for  the  refection 


86  ELSIE  VENNER. 

which  was  to  be  part  of  the  entertainment.  There 
was  much  clinking  of  borrowed  spoons,  which  were  to 
be  carefully  counted,  and  much  clicking  of  borrowed 
china,  which  was  to  be  tenderly  handled,  —  for  nobody 
in  the  country  keeps  those  vast  closets  full  of  such 
things  which  one  may  see  in  rich  city -houses.  Not  a 
great  deal  could  be  done  in  the  way  of  flowers,  for 
there  were  no  greenhouses,  and  few  plants  were  out  as 
yet;  but  there  were  paper  ornaments  for  the  candle 
sticks,  and  colored  mats  for  the  lamps,  and  all  the  tas 
sels  of  the  curtains  and  bells  were  taken  out  of  those 
brown  linen  bags,  in  which,  for  reasons  hitherto  un 
discovered,  they  are  habitually  concealed  in  some 
households.  In  the  remoter  apartments  every  im 
aginable  operation  was  going  on  at  once,  —  roasting, 
boiling,  baking,  beating,  rolling,  pounding  in  mor 
tars,  frying,  freezing;  for  there  was  to  be  ice-cream 
to-night  of  domestic  manufacture ;  —  and  in  the  midst 
of  all  these  labors,  Mrs.  Sprowle  and  Miss  Matilda 
were  moving  about,  directing  and  helping  as  they  best 
might,  all  day  long.  When  the  evening  came,  it 
might  be  feared  they  would  not  be  in  just  the  state  of 
mind  and  body  to  entertain  company. 

—  One  would  like  to  give  a  party  now  and  then,  if 
one  could  be  a  billionnaire.  —  "  Antoine,  I  am  going 
to  have  twenty  people  to  dine  to-day."  " Bien,  Ma 
dame."  Not  a  word  or  thought  more  about  it,  but 
get  home  in  season  to  dress,  and  come  down  to  your 
own  table,  one  of  your  own  guests.  —  "Giuseppe,  we 
are  to  have  a  party  a  week  from  to-night,  —  five  hun 
dred  invitations  —  there  is  the  list."  The  day  comes. 
"Madam,  do  you  remember  you  have  your  party  to 
night?  "  "Why,  so  I  have  I  Everything  right?  sup 
per  and  all?"  "All  as  it  should  be,  Mada;n." 


ELSIE   VENNER.  87 

"Send  up  Victorine."  "Victorine,  full  toilet  for  this 
evening,  —  pink,  diamonds,  and  emeralds.  Coiffeur 
at  seven.  Allez." — -Billionism,  or  even  millionism, 
must  be  a  blessed  kind  of  state,  with  health  and 
clear  conscience  and  youth  and  good  looks,  —  but 
most  blessed  is  this,  that  it  takes  off  all  the  mean 
cares  which  give  people  the  three  wrinkles  between  the 
eyebrows,  and  leaves  them  free  to  have  a  good  time 
and  make  others  have  a  good  time,  all  the  way  along 
from  the  charity  that  tips  up  unexpected  loads  of  wood 
before  widows'  houses,  and  leaves  foundling  turkeys 
upon  poor  men's  door-steps,  and  sets  lean  clergymen 
crying  at  the  sight  of  anonymous  fifty -dollar  bills,  to 
the  taste  which  orders  a  perfect  banquet  in  such  sweet 
accord  with  every  sense  that  everybody's  nature  flow 
ers  out  full  -  blown  in  its  golden  -  glowing,  fragrant 
atmosphere. 

—  A  great  party  given  by  the  smaller  gentry  of  the 
interior  is  a  kind  of  solemnity,  so  to  speak.  It  in 
volves  so  much  labor  and  anxiety,  —  its  spasmodic 
splendors  are  so  violently  contrasted  with  the  home 
liness  of  every -day  family -life,  —  it  is  such  a  formid 
able  matter  to  break  in  the  raw  subordinates  to  the 
manege  of  the  cloak-room  and  the  table,  —  there  is 
such  a  terrible  uncertainty  in  the  results  of  unfamiliar 
culinary  operations,  —  so  many  feuds  are  involved  in 
drawing  that  fatal  line  which  divides  the  invited  from 
the  uninvited  fraction  of  the  local  universe,  —  that,  if 
the  notes  requested  the  pleasure  of  the  guests'  com 
pany  on  "this  solemn  occasion,"  they  would  pretty 
nearly  express  the  true  state  of  things. 

The  Colonel  himself  had  been  pressed  into  the 
service.  He  had  pounded  something  in  the  great 
mortar.  He  had  agitated  a  quantity  of  sweetened 


88  ELSIE   VENNER. 

and  thickened  milk  in  what  was  called  a  cream- 
freezer.  At  eleven  o'clock,  A.  M.,  he  retired  for  a 
space.  On  returning,  his  color  was  noted  to  be  some 
what  heightened,  and  he  showed  a  disposition  to  be 
jocular  with  the  female  help,  —  which  tendency,  dis 
playing  itself  in  livelier  demonstrations  than  were 
approved  at  head-quarters,  led  to  his  being  detailed  to 
out-of-door  duties,  such  as  raking  gravel,  arranging 
places  for  horses  to  be  hitched  to,  and  assisting  in 
the  construction  of  an  arch  of  wintergreen  at  the 
porch  of  the  mansion. 

A  whiff  from  Mr.  Geordie's  cigar  refreshed  the 
toiling  females  from  time  to  time;  for  the  windows 
had  to  be  opened  occasionally,  while  all  these  opera 
tions  were  going  on,  and  the  youth  amused  himself 
with  inspecting  the  interior,  encouraging  the  opera 
tives  now  and  then  in  the  phrases  commonly  employed 
by  genteel  young  men,  —  for  he  had  perused  an  odd 
volume  of  "Verdant  Green,  "and  was  acquainted  with 
a  Sophomore  from  one  of  the  fresh-water  colleges.  — 
"Go  it  on  the  feed!"  exclaimed  this  spirited  young 
man.  "Nothin'  like  a  good  spread.  Grub  enough 
and  good  liquor,  that 's  the  ticket.  Guv 'nor  '11  do  the 
heavy  polite,  and  let  me  alone  for  polishin'  off  the 
young  charmers."  And  Mr.  Geordie  looked  expres 
sively  at  a  handmaid  who  was  rolling  gingerbread,  as 
if  he  were  rehearsing  for  "Don  Giovanni." 

Evening  came  at  last,  and  the  ladies  were  forced  to 
leave  the  scene  of  their  labors  to  array  themselves  for 
the  coming  festivities.  The  tables  had  been  set  in  a 
back  room,  the  meats  were  ready,  the  pickles  were  dis 
played,  the  cake  was  baked,  the  blanc-mange  had  stif 
fened,  and  the  ice-cream  had  frozen. 

At  half  past  seven  o'clock,  the  Colonel,  in  costume. 


ELSIE  VENNER.  89 

came  into  the  front  parlor,  and  proceeded  to  light  tne 
lamps.  Some  were  good-humored  enough  and  took 
the  hint  of  a  lighted  match  at  once.  Others  were  as 
vicious  as  they  could  be,  —  would  not  light  on  any 
terms,  any  more  than  if  they  were  filled  with  water, 
or  lighted  and  smoked  one  side  of  the  chimney,  or 
sputtered  a  few  sparks  and  sulked  themselves  out,  or 
kept  up  a  faint  show  of  burning,  so  that  their  ground 
glasses  looked  as  feebly  phosphorescent  as  so  many 
invalid  fireflies.  With  much  coaxing  and  screwing 
and  pricking,  a  tolerable  illumination  was  at  last 
achieved.  At  eight  there  was  a  grand  rustling  of 
silks,  and  Mrs.  and  Miss  Sprowle  descended  from 
their  respective  bowers  or  boudoirs.  Of  course  they 
were  pretty  well  tired  by  this  time,  and  very  glad  to 
sit  down,  —  having  the  prospect  before  them  of  being 
obliged  to  stand  for  hours.  The  Colonel  walked 
about  the  parlor,  inspecting  his  regiment  of  lamps. 
By  and  by  Mr.  Geordie  entered. 

"Mph!  mph!"  he  sniffed,  as  he  came  in.  "You 
smell  of  lamp-smoke  here." 

That  always  galls  people,  —  to  have  a  new-comer 
accuse  them  of  smoke  or  close  air,  which  they  have 
got  used  to  and  do  not  perceive.  The  Colonel  raged 
at  the  thought  of  his  lamps'  smoking,  and  tongued  » 
few  anathemas  inside  of  his  shut  teeth,  but  turned 
down  two  or  three  wicks  that  burned  higher  than  the 
rest. 

Master  H.  Frederic  next  made  his  appearance,  with 
questionable  marks  upon  his  fingers  and  countenance. 
Had  been  tampering  with  something  brown  and  sticky. 
His  elder  brother  grew  playful,  and  caught  him  by 
the  baggy  reverse  of  his  more  essential  garment. 

"  Hush !  "  said  Mrs.  Sprowle,  —  "  there  's  the  bell !  " 


90  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Everybody  took  position  at  once,  and  began  to  look 
very  smiling  and  altogether  at  ease.  —  False  alarm. 
Only  a  parcel  of  spoons,  —  "loaned,"  as  the  inland 
folks  say  when  they  mean  lent,  by  a  neighbor. 

"Better  late  than  never!  "  said  the  Colonel,  "let  me 
heft  them  spoons." 

Mrs.  Sprowle  came  down  into  her  chair  again  as  if 
all  her  bones  had  been  bewitched  out  of  her. 

"I  'm  pretty  nigh  beat  out  a'ready,"  said  she,  "be 
fore  any  of  the  folks  has  come." 

They  sat  silent  awhile,  waiting  for  the  first  arrival. 
How  nervous  they  got!  and  how  their  senses  were 
sharpened ! 

"Hark!  "  said  Miss  Matilda,  —  "what 's  that  rum- 
blin'?" 

It  was  a  cart  going  over  a  bridge  more  than  a  mile 
off,  which  at  any  other  time  they  would  not  have 
heard.  After  this  there  was  a  lull,  and  poor  Mrs. 
Sprowle 's  head  nodded  once  or  twice.  Presently  a 
crackling  and  grinding  of  gravel;  —  how  much  that 
means,  when  we  are  waiting  for  those  whom  we  long 
or  dread  to  see !  Then  a  change  in  the  tone  tef  the 
gravel-crackling. 

"Yes,  they  have  turned  in  at  our  gate.  They  're 
comin'!  Mother!  mother!" 

Everybody  in  position,  smiling  and  at  ease.  Bell 
rings.  Enter  the  first  set  of  visitors.  The  Event  of 
the  Season  has  begun.. 

"Law!  it's  nothin'  but  the  Cranes'  folks!  I  do 
believe  Mahala  's  come  in  that  old  green  de-laine  she 
wore  at  the  Surprise  Party!  " 

Miss  Matilda  had  peeped  through  a  crack  of  the 
door  and  made  this  observation  and  the  remark 
founded  thereon.  Continuing  her  attitude  of  atten- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  91. 

tion,  sh'e  overheard  Mrs.  Crane  and  her  two  daugh 
ters  conversing  in  the  attiring-room,  up  one  flight. 

"How  fine  everything  is  in  the  great  house!  "  said 
Mrs.  Crane,  —  "jest  look  at  the  picters!  " 

"Matildy  Sprowle's  drawin's,"  said  Ada  Azuba,  the 
eldest  daughter. 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  Mahala  Crane,  her 
younger  sister,  —  a  wide-awake  girl,  who  had  n't  been 
to  school  for  nothing,  and  performed  a  little  on  the 
lead  pencil  herself.  "  I  should  like  to  know  whether 
that 's  a  hay-cock  or  a  mountain !  " 

Miss  Matilda  winced;  for  this  must  refer  to  her 
favorite  monochrome,  executed  by  laying  on  heavy 
shadows  and  stumping  them  down  into  mellow  har 
mony,  —  the  style  of  drawing  which  is  taught  in  six 
lessons,  and  the  kind  of  specimen  which  is  executed 
in  something  less  than  one  hour.  Parents  and  other 
very  near  relatives  are  sometimes  gratified  with  these 
productions,  and  cause  them  to  be  framed  and  hung 
up,  as  in  the  present  instance. 

"I  guess  we  won't  go  down  jest  yet,"  said  Mrs. 
Crane,  "as  folks  don't  seem  to  have  come." 

So  she  began  a  systematic  inspection  of  the  dress 
ing-room  and  its  conveniences. 

"Mahogany  four-poster,  — come  from  the  Jordans', 
I  cal'late.  Marseilles  quilt.  Ruffles  all  round  the 
pj^ler.  Chintz  curtings,  — jest  put  up,  — o'  purpose 
for  the  party,  I  '11  lay  ye  a  dollar.  —  What  a  nice 
washbowl!"  (Taps  it  with  a  white  knuckle  belong 
ing  to  a  red  finger.)  "Stone  chaney. — Here's  a 
bran' -new  brush  and  comb,  — and  here  's  a  scent-bot 
tle.  Come  here,  girls,  and  fix  yourselves  in  the  glass, 
and  scent  your  pocket-handkerchers." 

And  Mrs.   Crane  bedewed  her  own  kerchief  with 


92  ELSIE   VENNER. 

some  of  the  eau  de  Cologne  of  native  manufacture, 
—  said  on  its  label  to  be  much  superior  to  the  Ger 
man  article. 

It  was  a  relief  to  Mrs.  and  the  Miss  Cranes  when 
the  bell  rang  and  the  next  guests  were  admitted. 
Deacon  and  Mrs.  Soper,  —  Deacon  Soper  of  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Fairweather's  church,  and  his  lady.  Mrs. 
Deacon  Soper  was  directed,  of  course,  to  the  ladies' 
dressing-room,  and  her  husband  to  the  other  apart 
ment,  where  gentlemen  were  to  leave  their  outside 
coats  and  hats.  Then  came  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Briggs, 
and  then  the  three  Miss  Spinneys,  then  Silas  Peck- 
ham,  Head  of  the  Apollinean  Institute,  and  Mrs. 
Peckham,  and  more  after  them,  until  at  last  the 
ladies'  dressing-room  got  so  full  that  one  might  have 
thought  it  was  a  trap  none  of  them  could  get  out  of. 
In  truth,  they  all  felt  a  little  awkwardly.  Nobody 
wanted  to  be  first  to  venture  down-stairs.  At  last 
Mr.  Silas  Peckham  thought  it  was  time  to  make  a 
move  for  the  parlor,  and  for  this  purpose  presented 
himself  at  the  door  of  the  ladies'  dressing-room. 

"Lorindy,  my  dear!"  he  exclaimed  to  Mrs.  Peck- 
ham,  —  "I  think  there  can  be  no  impropriety  in  our 
joining  the  family  down-stairs." 

Mrs.  Peckham  laid  her  large,  flaccid  arm  in  the 
sharp  angle  made  by  the  black  sleeve  which  held  the 
bony  limb  her  husband  offered,  and  the  two  took  the 
stair  and  struck  out  for  the  parlor.  The  ice  was 
broken,  and  the  dressing-room  began  to  empty  itself 
into  the  spacious,  lighted  apartments  below. 

Mr.  Silas  Peckham  slid  into  the  room  with  Mrs. 
Peckham  alongside,  like  a  shad  convoying  a  jelly-fish. 

"Good-evenin',  Mrs.  Sprowle!  I  hope  I  see  you 
well  this  evenin'.  How 's  your  haiilth,  Colonel 
Sprowle?  " 


ELSIE  VENNER.  93 

"Very  well,  much  obleeged  to  you.  Hope  you  and 
your  good  lady  are  well.  Much  pleased  to  see  you. 
Hope  you  '11  enjoy  yourselves.  We  've  laid  out  to 
have  everything  in  good  shape,  —  spared  no  trouble 
nor  ex"  — 

—  "pense,"  —  said  Silas  Peckham. 

Mrs.  Colonel  Sprowle,  who,  you  remember,  was  a 
Jordan,  had  nipped  the  Colonel's  statement  in  the 
middle  of  the  word  Mr.  Peckham  finished,  with  a 
look  that  jerked  him  like  one  of  those  sharp  twitches 
women  keep  giving  a  horse  when  they  get  a  chance  to 
drive  one. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crane,  Miss  Ada  Azuba,  and  Miss 
Mahala  Crane  made  their  entrance.  There  had  been 
a  discussion  about  the  necessity  and  propriety  of  in 
viting  this  family,  the  head  of  which  kept  a  small  shop 
for  hats  and  boots  and  shoes.  The  Colonel's  casting 
vote  had  carried  it  in  the  affirmative.  —  How  terribly 
the  poor  old  green  de-laine  did  cut  up  in  the  blaze  of 
so  many  lamps  and  candles. 

—  Deluded  little  wretch,  male  or  female,  in  town 
or  country,  going  to  your  first  great  party,  how  little 
you  know  the  nature  of  the  ceremony  in  which  you 
are  to  bear  the  part  of  victim !     What !  are  not  these 
garlands  and  gauzy  mists  and  many-colored  streamers 
which  adorn  you,  is  not  this  music  which  welcomes 
you,  this  radiance  that  glows  about  you,  meant  solely 
for  your    enjoyment,    young   miss    of    seventeen   or 
eighteen  summers,  now  for  the  first  time  swimming 
Into  the  frothy,  chatoyant,  sparkling,  undulating  sea 
of  laces  and  silks  and  satins,  and  white-armed,  flower- 
crowned  maidens  struggling  in  their  waves  beneath 
the  lustres  that  make  the  false  summer  of  the  drawing- 
room? 


94  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Stop  at  the  threshold !  This  is  a  hall  of  judgment 
you  are  entering ;  the  court  is  in  session ;  and  if  you 
move  five  steps  forward,  you  will  be  at  its  bar. 

There  was  a  tribunal  once  in  France,  as  you  may 
remember,  called  the  Chambre  Ardente,  the  Burning 
Chamber.  It  was  hung  all  round  with  lamps,  and 
hence  its  name.  The  burning  chamber  for  the  trial  of 
young  maidens  is  the  blazing  ball-room.  What  have 
they  full-dressed  you,  or  rather  half -dressed  you  for, 
do  you  think  ?  To  make  you  look  pretty,  of  course !  — 
Why  have  they  hung  a  chandelier  above  you,  flicker 
ing  all  over  with  flames,  so  that  it  searches  you  like 
the  noonday  sun,  and  your  deepest  dimple  cannot  hold 
a  shadow?  To  give  brilliancy  to  the  gay  scene,  no 
doubt  !  —  No,  my  dear !  Society  is  inspecting  you, 
and  it  finds  undisguised  surfaces  and  strong  lights  a 
convenience  in  the  process.  The  dance  answers  the 
purpose  of  the  revolving  pedestal  upon  which  the 
"White  Captive"  turns,  to  show  us  the  soft,  kneaded 
marble,  which  looks  as  if  it  had  never  been  hard,  in 
all  its  manifold  aspects  of  living  loveliness.  No 
mercy  for  you,  my  love !  Justice,  strict  justice,  you 
shall  certainly  have,  —  neither  more  nor  less.  For, 
look  you,  there  are  dozens,  scores,  hundreds,  with 
whom  you  must  be  weighed  in  the  balance ;  and  you 
have  got  to  learn  that  the  "struggle  for  life"  Mr. 
Charles  Darwin  talks  about  reaches  to  vertebrates 
clad  in  crinoline,  as  well  as  to  mollusks  in  shells,  or 
articulates  in  jointed  scales,  or  anything  that  fights 
tor  breathing-room  and  food  and  love  in  any  coat  of 
fur  or  feather !  Happy  they  who  can  flash  defiance 
from  bright  eyes  and  snowy  shoulders  back  into  the 
pendants  of  the  insolent  lustres ! 

—  Miss  Mahala  Crane  did  not  have  these  reflec- 


,LSIE   VENNER.  95 

tions ;  and  girl  ever  did,  or  ever  will,  thank 

Heaven !  eyes  sparkled  under  her  plainly 

parted  haL  green  de-laine  moulded  itself  in 

those  unmistakable  lines  of  natural  symmetry  in 
which  Nature  indulges  a  small  shopkeeper's  daughter 
occasionally  as  well  as  a  wholesale  dealer's  young 
ladies.  She  would  have  liked  a  new  dress  as  much  as 
any  other  girl,  but  she  meant  to  go  and  have  a  good 
time  at  any  rate. 

The  guests  were  now  arriving  in  the  drawing-room 
pretty  fast,  and  the  Colonel's  hand  began  to  burn  a 
good  deal  with  the  sharp  squeezes  which  many  of  the 
visitors  gave  it.  Conversation,  which  had  begun  like 
a  summer-shower,  in  scattering  drops,  was  fast  becom 
ing  continuous,  and  occasionally  rising  into  gusty 
swells,  with  now  and  then  a  broad-chested  laugh  from 
some  Captain  or  Major  or  other  military  personage, 
—  for  it  may  be  noted  that  all  large  and  loud  men 
in  the  unpaved  districts  bear  military  titles. 

Deacon  Soper  came  up  presently,  and  entered  into 
conversation  with  Colonel  Sprowle. 

"I  hope  to  see  our  pastor  present  this  evenin'," 
said  the  Deacon. 

"I  don't  feel  quite  sure,"  the  Colonel  answered. 
"His  dyspepsy  has  been  bad  on  him  lately.  He 
wrote  to  say,  that,  Providence  permitting  it  would  be 
agreeable  to  him  to  take  a  part  in  the  exercises  of  the 
evenin' ;  but  I  mistrusted  he  did  n't  mean  to  come. 
To  tell  the  truth,  Deacon  Soper,  I  rather  guess  he 
don't  like  the  idee  of  dancin',  and  some  of  the  other 
little  arrangements." 

"Well,"  said  the  Deacon,  "I  know  there  's  some 
condemns  dancin'.  I  've  heerd  a  good  deal  of  talk 
about  it  among  the  folks  round.  Some  have  it  that 


96  ELSIE   VENNER. 

it  never  brings  a  blessin'  on  a  house  to  have  dancin' 
in  it.  Judge  Tileston  died,  you  remember,  within  a 
month  after  he  had  his  great  ball,  twelve  year  ago, 
and  some  thought  it  was  in  the  natur'  of  a  judgment. 
I  don't  believe  in  any  of  them  notions.  If  a  man 
happened  to  be  struck  dead  the  night  after  he  'd  been 
givin'  a  ball,"  (the  Colonel  loosened  his  black  stock  a 
little,  and  winked  and  swallowed  two  or  three  times,) 
"I  should  n't  call  it  a  judgment,  —  I  should  call  it 
a  coincidence.  But  I  'm  a  little  afraid  our  pastor 
won't  come.  Somethin'  or 'other's  the  matter  with 
Mr.  Fairweather.  I  should  sooner  expect  to  see  the 
old  Doctor  come  over  out  of  the  Orthodox  parsonage- 
house." 

"I  've  asked  him,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Well?  "  said  Deacon  Soper. 

"He  said  he  should  like  to  come,  but  he  did  n't 
know  what  his  people  would  say.  For  his  part,  he 
loved  to  see  young  folks  havin'  their  sports  together, 
and  very  often  felt  as  if  he  should  like  to  be  one  of 
'em  himself.  'But,'  says  I,  'Doctor,  I  don't  say  there 
won't  be  a  little  dancin'.'  '  Don't  ! '  says  he,  'for  I 
want  Letty  to  go,'  (she's  his  granddaughter  that's 
been  stay  in'  with  him,)  'and  Letty  's  mighty  fond  of 
dancin'.  You  know,'  says  the  Doctor,  'it  is  n't  my 
business  to  settle  whether  other  people's  children 
should  dance  or  not. '  And  the  Doctor  looked  as  if 
he  should  like  to  rigadoon  and  sashy  across  as  well 
as  the  young  one  he  was  talkin'  about.  He  's  got 
blood  in  him,  the  old  Doctor  has.  I  wish  our  little 
man  and  him  would  swop  pulpits." 

Deacon  Soper  started  and  looked  up  into  the  Colo 
nel's  face,  as  if  to  see  whether  he  was  in  earnest. 

Mr.  Silas  Peckham  and  his  lady  joined  the  group. 


ELSIE  VENNER.  97 

"Is  this  to  be  a  Temperance  Celebration,  Mrs. 
Sprowle?"  asked  Mr.  Silas  Peckham. 

Mrs.  Sprowle  replied,  "that  there  would  be  lem 
onade  and  srub  for  those  that  preferred  such  drinks, 
but  that  the  Colonel  had  given  folks  to  understand 
that  he  did  n't  mean  to  set  in  judgment  on  the  mar 
riage  in  Canaan,  and  that  those  that  didn't  like  srub 
and  such  things  would  find  somethin'  that  would  suit 
them  better." 

Deacon  Soper's  countenance  assumed  a  certain  air 
of  restrained  cheerfulness.  The  conversation  rose 
into  one  of  its  gusty  paroxysms  just  then.  Master  H. 
Frederic  got  behind  a  door  and  began  performing  the 
experiment  of  stopping  and  unstopping  his  ears  in 
rapid  alternation,  greatly  rejoicing  in  the  singular 
effect  of  mixed  conversation  chopped  very  small,  like 
the  contents  of  a  mince-pie,  —  or  meat-pie,  as  it  is 
more  forcibly  called  in  the  deep-rutted  villages  lying 
along  the  unsalted  streams.  All  at  once  it  grew  silent 
just  round  the  door,  where  it  had  been  loudest,  —  and 
the  silence  spread  itself  like  a  stain,  till  it  hushed 
everything  but  a  few  corner-duets.  A  dark,  sad- 
looking,  middle-aged  gentleman  entered  the  parlor, 
with  a  young  lady  on  his  arm,  —  his  daughter,  as  it 
seemed,  for  she  was  not  wholly  unlike  him  in  feature, 
and  of  the  same  dark  complexion. 

"Dudley  Vernier,"  exclaimed  a  dozen  people,  in 
startled,  but  half -suppressed  tones. 

"What  can  have  brought  Dudley  out  to-night?" 
said  Jefferson  Buck,  a  young  fellow,  who  had  been 
interrupted  in  one  of  the  corner-duets  which  he  was 
executing  in  concert  with  Miss  Susy  Pettingill. 

"How  do  I  know,  Jeff?  "  was  Miss  Susy's  answer. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  — "  Elsie  made  him  come,  I 


98  ELSIE   VENNER. 

guess.  Go  ask  Dr.  Kittredge;  he  knows  all  about 
'em  both,  they  say." 

Dr.  Kittredge,  the  leading  physician  of  Rockland, 
was  a  shrewd  old  man,  who  looked  pretty  keenly  into 
his  patients  through  his  spectacles,  and  pretty  widely 
at  men,  women,  and  things  in  general  over  them,, 
Sixty-three  years  old, — just  the  year  of  the  grand 
climacteric.  A  bald  crown,  as  every  doctor  should 
have.  A  consulting  practitioner's  mouth;  that  is, 
movable  round  the  corners  while  the  case  is  under  ex 
amination,  but  both  corners  well  drawn  down  and  kept 
so  when  the  final  opinion  is  made  up.  In  fact,  the 
Doctor  was  often  sent  for  to  act  as  "caounsel,"  all 
over  the  county,  and  beyond  it.  He  kept  three  or  four 
horses,  sometimes  riding  in  the  saddle,  commonly  driv 
ing  in  a  sulky,  pretty  fast,  and  looking  straight  be 
fore  him,  so  that  people  got  out  of  the  way  of  bowing 
to  him  as  he  passed  on  the  road.  There  was  some  talk 
about  his  not  being  so  long-sighted  as  other  folks,  but 
his  old  patients  laughed  and  looked  knowing  when 
this  was  spoken  of. 

The  Doctor  knew  a  good  many  things  besides  how 
to  drop  tinctures  and  shake  out  powders.  Thus,  he 
knew  a  horse,  and,  what  is  harder  to  understand, 
a  horse-dealer,  and  was  a  match  for  him.  He  knew 
what  a  nervous  woman  is,  and  how  to  manage  her. 
He  could  tell  at  a  glance  when  she  is  in  that  condition 
of  unstable  equilibrium  in  which  a  rough  word  is  like 
a  blow  to  her,  and  the  touch  of  unmagnetized  fingers 
reverses  all  her  nervous  currents.  It  is  not  everybody 
that  enters  into  the .  soul  of  Mozart's  or  Beethoven's 
harmonies ;  and  there  are  vital  symphonies  in  B  flat, 
and  other  low,  sad  keys,  which  a  doctor  may  know  as 
little  of  as  a  hurdy-gurdy  player  of  the  essence  of  those 


ELSIE    VENNER.  99 

divine  musical  mysteries.  The  Doctor  knew  the  dif 
ference  between  what  men  say  and  what  they  mean  as 
well  as  most  people.  When  he  was  listening  to  com 
mon  talk,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  looking  over  his  spec 
tacles;  if  he  lifted  his  head  so  as  to  look  through 
them  at  the  person  talking,  he  was  busier  with  that 
person's  thoughts  than  with  his  words. 

Jefferson  Buck  was  not  bold  enough  to  confront  the 
Doctor  with  Miss  Susy's  question,  for  he  did  not  look 
as  if  he  were  in  the  mood  to  answer  queries  put  by 
curious  young  people.  His  eyes  were  fixed  steadily 
on  the  dark  girl,  every  movement  of  whom  he  seemed 
to  follow. 

She  was,  indeed,  an  apparition  of  wild  beauty,  so 
unlike  the  girls  about  her  that  it  seemed  nothing  more 
than  natural,  that,  when  she  moved,  the  groups  should 
part  to  let  her  pass  through  them,  and  that  she  should 
carry  the  centre  of  all  looks  and  thoughts  with  her. 
She  was  dressed  to  please  her  own  fancy,  evidently, 
with  small  regard  to  the  modes  declared  correct  by  the 
Rockland  milliners  and  mantua-makers.  Her  heavy 
black  hair  lay  in  a  braided  coil,  with  a  long  gold  pin 
shot  through  it  like  a  javelin.  Round  her  neck  was 
a  golden  torque,  a  round,  cord-like  chain,  such  as  the 
Gauls  used  to  wear;  the  " Dying  Gladiator "  has  it. 
Her  dress  was  a  grayish  watered  silk;  her  collar  was 
pinned  with  a  flashing  diamond  brooch,  the  stones 
looking  as  fresh  as  morning  dew-drops,  but  the  silver 
setting  of  the  past  generation;  her  arms  were  bare, 
round,  but  slender  rather  than  large,  in  keeping  with 
her  lithe  round  figure.  On  her  wrists  she  wore  brace 
lets  :  one  was  a  circlet  of  enamelled  scales ;  the  other 
looked  as  if  it  might  have  been  Cleopatra's  asp,  with 
its  body  turned  to  gold  and  its  eyes  to  emeralds. 


100  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Her  father  —  for  Dudley  Venner  was  her  father  — « 
looked  like  a  man  of  culture  and  breeding,  but  mel 
ancholy  and  with  a  distracted  air,  as  one  whose  life 
had  met  some  fatal  cross  or  blight.  He  saluted 
hardly  anybody  except  his  entertainers  and  the  Doc 
tor.  One  would  have  said,  to  look  at  him,  that  he 
was  not  at  the  party  by  choice;  and  it  was  natural 
enough  to  think,  with  Susy  Pettingill,  that  it  must 
have  been  a  freak  of  the  dark  girl's  which  brought 
him  there,  for  he  had  the  air  of  a  shy  and  sad-hearted 
recluse. 

It  was  hard  to  say  what  could  have  brought  Elsie 
Venner  to  the  party.  Hardly  anybody .  seemed  to 
know  her,  and  she  seemed  not  at  all  disposed  to  make 
acquaintances.  Here  and  there  was  one  of  the  older 
girls  from  the  Institute,  but  she  appeared  to  have 
nothing  in  common  with  them.  Even  in  the  school 
room,  it  may  be  remembered,  she  sat  apart  by  her 
own  choice,  and  r.ow  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  she 
made  a  circle  of  isolation  round  herself.  Drawing  her 
arm  out  of  her  father's,  she  stood  against  the  wall, 
and  looked,  with  a  strange,  cold  glitter  in  her  eyes,  at 
the  crowd  which  moved  and  babbled  before  her. 

The  old  Doctor  came  up  to  her  by  and  by. 

"  Well,  Elsie,  I  am  quite  surprised  to  find  you  here. 
Do  tell  me  how  you  happened  to  do  such  a  good-na 
tured  thing  as  to  let  us  see  you  at  such  a  great  party." 

"It 's  been  dull  at  the  mansion-house,"  she  said, 
"and  I  wanted  to  get  out  of  it.  It 's  too  lonely  there, 
—  there  's  nobody  to  hate  since  Dick  's  gone." 

The  Doctor  laughed  good-naturedly,  as  if  this  were 
an  amusing  bit  of  pleasantry,  —  but  he  lifted  his  head 
and  dropped  his  eyes  a  little,  so  as  to  see  her  throur  * 
his  spectacles.     She  narrowed  her  lids  slightly,  ? 


ELSIE    VENNER.  101 

often  sees  a  sleepy  cat  narrow  hers,  —  somewhat  as 
you  may  remember  our  famous  Margaret  used  to,  if 
you  remember  her  at  all,  —  so  that  her  eyes  looked 
very  small,  but  bright  as  the  diamonds  on  her  breast. 
The  old  Doctor  felt  very  oddly  as  she  looked  at  him; 
he  did  not  like  the  feeling,  so  he  dropped  his  head  and 
lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her  over  his  spectacles 
again. 

"And  how  have  you  all  been  at  the  mansion- 
house?  "  said  the  Doctor. 

"Oh,  well  enough.  But  Dick 's  gone,  and  there  's 
nobody  left  but  Dudley  and  I  and  the  people.  I  'm 
tired  of  it.  What  kills  anybody  quickest,  Doctor?  " 
Then,  in  a  whisper,  "  I  ran  away  again  the  other  day, 
you  know." 

"Where  did  you  go?  "  The  Doctor  spoke  in  a  low, 
serious  tone. 

"Oh,  to  the  old  place.  Here,  I  brought  this  for 
you." 

The  Doctor  started  as  she  handed  him  a  flower  of 
the  Atragene  Americana,  for  he  knew  that  there  was 
only  one  spot  where  it  grew,  and  that  not  one  where 
any  rash  foot,  least  of  all  a  thin-shod  woman's  foot, 
should  venture. 

"How  long  were  you  gone?  "  said  the  Doctor. 

"  Only  one  night.  You  should  have  heard  the  horns 
blowing  and  the  guns  firing.  Dudley  was  frightened 
out  of  his  wits.  Old  Sophy  told  him  she  'd  had  a 
dream,  and  that  I  should  be  found  in  Dead-Man's 
Hollow,  with  a  great  rock  lying  on  me.  They  hunted 
all  over  it,  but  they  did  n't  find  me,  —  I  was  farther 
up." 

Doctor  Kittredge  looked  cloudy  and  worried  while 
she  was  speaking,  but  forced  a  pleasant  professional 


102  ELSIE   VENNER. 

smile,  as  he  said  cheerily,  and  as  if  wishing  to  change 
the  subject,  — 

"Have  a  good  dance  this  evening,  Elsie.  The  fid 
dlers  are  tuning  up.  Where 's  the  young  master?  has 
he  come  yet  ?  or  is  he  going  to  be  late,  with  the  other 
great  folks?" 

The  girl  turned  away  without  answering,  and  looked 
toward  the  door. 

The  "great  folks,"  meaning  the  mansion-house  gen 
try,  were  just  beginning  to  come ;  Dudley  Venner  and 
his  daughter  had  been  the  first  of  them.  Judge 
Thornton,  white-headed,  fresh-faced,  as  good  at  sixty 
as  he  was  at  forty,  with  a  youngish  second  wife,  and 
one  noble  daughter,  Arabella,  who,  they  said,  knew 
as  much  law  as  her  father,  a  stately,  Portia-like  girl, 
fit  for  a  premier's  wife,  not  like  to  find  her  match  even 
in  the  great  cities  she  sometimes  visited;  the  Treco- 
thicks,  the  family  of  a  merchant,  (in  the  larger  sense,) 
who,  having  made  himself  rich  enough  by  the  time 
he  had  reached  middle  life,  threw  down  his  ledger  as 
Sylla  did  his  dagger,  and  retired  to  make  a  little  par 
adise  around  him  in  one  of  the  stateliest  residences  of 
the  town,  a  family  inheritance ;  the  Vaughans,  an  old 
Rockland  race,  descended  from  its  first  settlers,  Tory- 
ish  in  tendency  in  Revolutionary  times,  and  barely 
escaping  confiscation  or  worse ;  the  Dunhams,  a  new 
family,  dating  its  gentility  only  as  far  back  as  the 
Honorable  Washington  Dunham,  M.  C.,  but  turning 
out  a  clever  boy  or  two  that  went  to  college,  and  some 
showy  girls  with  white  necks  and  fat  arms  who  had 
picked  up  professional  husbands :  these  were  the  prin 
cipal  mansion-house  people.  All  of  them  had  made 
it  a  point  to  come ;  and  as  each  of  them  entered,  it 
seemed  to  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Sprowle  that  the  lamps 


ELSIE   VENNER.<>  103 

burned  up  with  a  more  cheerful  light,  and  that  the 
fiddles  which  sounded  from -the  uncarpeted  room  were 
all  half  a  tone  higher  and  half  a  beat  quicker. 

Mr.  Bernard  came  in  later  than  any  of  them;  he 
had  been  busy  with  his  new  duties.  He  looked  well,; 
and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal ;  for  nothing  but  a  gen 
tleman  is  endurable  in  full  dress.  Hair  that  masses 
well,  a  head  set  on  with  an  air,  a  neckerchief  tied 
cleverly  by  an  easy,  practised  hand,  close-fitting 
gloves,  feet  well  shaped  and  well  covered,  —  these  ad 
vantages  can  make  us  forgive  the  odious  sable  broad 
cloth  suit,  which  appears  to  have  been  adopted  by  so 
ciety  on  the  same  principle  that  condemned  all  the 
Venetian  gondolas  to  perpetual  and  uniform  black 
ness.  Mr.  Bernard,  introduced  by  Mr.  Geordie, 
made  his  bow  to  the  Colonel  and  his  lady  and  to  Miss 
Matilda,  from  whom  he  got  a  particularly  gracious 
curtsy,  and  then  began  looking  about  him  for  ac 
quaintances.  He  found  two  or  three  faces  he  knew, 

—  many  more  strangers.     There  was  Silas  Peckham, 

—  there  was  no  mistaking  him ;  there  was  the  inelastic 
amplitude  of  Mrs.  Peckham ;  few  of  the  Apollinean 
girls,  of  course,  they  not  being  recognized  members 
of  society,  —  but  there  is  one  with  the  flame  in  her 
cheeks  and  the  fire  in  her  eyes,  the  girl  of  vigorous 
tints  and  emphatic  outlines,   whom  we  saw  entering 
the  schoolroom  the  other  day.     Old  Judge  Thornton 
has  his  eyes  on  her,  and  the  Colonel  steals  a  look  every 
now  and  then  at  the  red  brooch  which  lifts  itself  so 
superbly  into  the  light,  as  if  he  thought  it  a  wonder 
fully  becoming  ornament.     Mr.  Bernard  himself  was 
not   displeased  with  the  general   effect  of   the  rich- 
blooded   schoolgirl,   as    she    stood   under   the   bright 
lamps,  fanning  herself  in  the  warm,  languid  air,  fixed 


104  ELSIE   VENNER. 

in  a  kind  of  passion^  surprise  at  the  new  life  which 
seemed  to  be  flowering  out  in  her  consciousness.  Per 
haps  he  looked  at  her  somewhat  steadily,  as  some  oth 
ers  had  done ;  at  any  rate,  she  seemed  to  feel  that  she 
was  looked  at,  as  people  often  do,  and,  turning  her 
eyes  suddenly  on  him,  caught  his  own  on  her  face, 
gave  him  a  half-bashful  smile,  and  threw  in  a  blush 
involuntarily  which  made  it  more  charming. 

"What  can  I  do  better,"  he  said  to  himself,  "than 
have  a  dance  with  Eosa  Milburn?  "  So  he  carried 
his  handsome  pupil  into  the  next  room  and  took  his 
place  with  her  in  a  cotillon.  Whether  the  breath  of 
the  Goddess  of  Love  could  intoxicate  like  the  cup  of 
Circe,  —  whether  a  woman  is  ever  phosphorescent  with 
the  luminous  vapor  of  life  that  she  exhales,  —  these 
and  other  questions  which  relate  to  occult  influences 
exercised  by  certain  women  we  will  not  now  discuss. 
It  is  enough  that  Mr.  Bernard  was  sensible  of  a 
strange  fascination,  not  wholly  new  to  him,  nor  un 
precedented  in  the  history  of  human  experience,  but 
always  a  revelation  when  it  comes  over  us  for  the  first 
or  the  hundredth  time,  so  pale  is  the  most  recent 
memory  by  the  side  of  the  passing  moment  with  the 
flush  of  any  new-born  passion  on  its  cheek.  Remem 
ber  that  Nature  makes  every  man  love  all  women,  and 
trusts  the  trivial  matter  of  special  choice  to  the  com 
monest  accident. 

If  Mr.  Bernard  had  had  nothing  to  distract  his  at 
tention,  he  might  have  thought  too  much  about  his 
handsome  partner,  and  then  gone  home  and  dreamed 
about  her,  which  is  always  dangerous,  and  waked  up 
thinking  of  her  still,  and  then  begun  to  be  deeply  in 
terested  in  her  studies,  and  so  on,  through  the  wholo 
syllogism  which  ends  in  Nature's  supreme  quod  erat 


ELSIE   VENNER.  105 

demonstrandum.  What  was  there  to  distract  him  or 
disturb  him?  He  did  not  know, — but  there  was 
something.  This  sumptuous  creature,  this  Eve  just 
within  the  gate  of  an  untried  Paradise,  untutored  in 
the  ways  of  the  world,  but  on  tiptoe  to  reach  the  fruit 
of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  —  alive  to  the  moist  vitality 
of  that  warm  atmosphere  palpitating  with  voices  and 
music,  as  the  flower  of  some  dioecious  plant  which  has 
grown  in  a  lone  corner  and  suddenly  unfolding  its 
corolla  on  some  hot-breathing  June  evening,  feels  that 
the  air  is  perfumed  with  strange  odors  and  loaded 
with  golden  dust  wafted  from  those  other  blossoms 
with  which  its  double  life  is  shared,  —  this  almost 
over-womanized  woman  might  well  have  bewitched 
him,  but  that  he  had  a  vague  sense  of  a  counter- 
charm.  It  was,  perhaps,  only  the  same  consciousness 
that  some  one  was  looking  at  him  which  he  himself 
had  just  given  occasion  to  in  his  partner.  Presently, 
in  one  of  the  turns  of  the  dance,  he  felt  his  eyes  drawn 
to  a  figure  he  had  not  distinctly  recognized,  though 
he  had  dimly  felt  its  presence,  and  saw  that  Elsie 
Venner  was  looking  at  him  as  if  she  saw  nothing  else 
but  him.  He  was  not  a  nervous  person,  like  the  poor 
lady-teacher,  yet  the  glitter  of  the  diamond  eyes  af 
fected  him  strangely.  It  seemed  to  disenchant  the  air, 
so  full  a  moment  before  of  strange  attractions.  He 
became  silent,  and  dreamy,  as  it  were.  The  round- 
limbed  beauty  at  his  side  crushed  her  gauzy  draperies 
against  him,  as  they  trod  the  figure  of  the  dance  to 
gether,  but  it  was  no  more  to  him  than  if  an  old  nurse 
had  laid  her  hand  on  his  sleeve.  The  young  girl 
chafed  at  his  seeming  neglect,  and  her  imperious  blood 
mounted  into  her  cheeks ;  but  he  appeared  unconscious 
of  it. 


106  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"There  is  one  of  our  young  ladies  I  must  speak  to," 
he  said,  —  and  was  just  leaving  his  partner's  side. 

"Four  hands  all  round!"  shouted  the  first  violin, 
—  and  Mr.  Bernard  found  himself  seized  and  whirled 
in  a  circle  out  of  which  he  could  not  escape,  and  then 
forced  to  "cross  over,"  and  then  to  "dozy  do,"  as  the 
maestro  had  it,  —  and  when,  on  getting  back  to  his 
place,  he  looked  for  Elsie  Venner,  she  was  gone. 

The  dancing  went  on  briskly.  Some  of  the  old 
folks  looked  on,  others  conversed  in  groups  and  pairs, 
and  so  the  evening  wore  along,  until  a  little  after  ten 
o'clock.  About  this  time  there  was  noticed  an  in 
creased  bustle  in  the  passages,  with  a  considerable 
opening  and  shutting  of  doors.  Presently  it  began 
to  be  whispered  about  that  they  were  going  to  have 
supper.  Many,  who  had  never  been  to  any  large  party 
before,  held  their  breath  for  a  moment  at  this  an 
nouncement.  It  was  rather  with  a  tremulous  interest 
than  with  open  hilarity  that  the  rumor  was  generally 
received. 

One  point  the  Colonel  had  entirely  forgotten  to 
settle.  It  was  a  point  involving  not  merely  propriety, 
but  perhaps  principle  also,  or  at  least  the  good  report 
of  the  house,  —  and  he  had  never  thought  to  arrange 
it.  He  took  Judge  Thornton  aside  and  whispered  the 
important  question  to  him,  —  in  his  distress  of  mind, 
mistaking  pockets  and  taking  out  his  bandanna  instead 
of  his  white  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  forehead. 

"Judge,"  he  said,  "do  you  think,  that,  before  we 
commence  refreshing  ourselves  at  the  tables,  it  would 
be  the  proper  thi»g  to  —  crave  a  —  to  request  Deacon 
Soper  or  some  other  elderly  person  —  to  ask  a  bless- 
ing?" 

The  Judge  looked  as  grave  as  if  he  were  about  giv- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  107 

ing  the  opinion  of  the  Court  in  the  great  India-rubber 
case. 

"On  the  whole,"  he  answered,  after  a  pause,  "I 
should  think  it  might,  perhaps,  be  dispensed  with  on 
this  occasion.  Young  folks  are  noisy,  and  it  is  awk 
ward  to  have  talking  and  laughing  going  on  while  a 
blessing  is  being  asked.  Unless  a  clergyman  is  pres 
ent  and  makes  a  point  of  it,  I  think  it  will  hardly  be 
expected." 

The  Colonel  was  infinitely  relieved.  "Judge,  will 
you  take  Mrs.  Sprowle  in  to  supper  ?  "  And  the  Colo 
nel  returned  the  compliment  by  offering  his  arm  to 
Mrs.  Judge  Thornton. 

The  door  of  the  supper-room  was  now  open,  and  the 
company,  following  the  lead  of  the  host  and  hostess, 
began  to  stream  into  it,  until  it  was  pretty  well  filled. 

There  was  an  awful  kind  of  pause.  Many  were 
beginning  to  drop  their  heads  and  shut  their  eyes,  in 
anticipation  of  the  usual  petition  before  a  meal ;  some 
expected  the  music  to  strike  up,  —  others,  that  an  ora 
tion  would  now  be  delivered  by  the  Colonel. 

"Make  yourselves  at  home,  ladies  and  gentlemen," 
said  the  Colonel;  "good  things  were  made  to  eat,  and 
you  're  welcoico  to  all  you  see  before  you." 

So  saying  he  attacked  a  huge  turkey  which  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  table :  and  his  example  being  followed 
first  by  the  bold,  then  by  the  doubtful,  and  lastly  by 
the  timid,  the  clatter  soon  made  the  circuit  of  the  ta 
bles.  Some  were  shocked,  however,  as  the  Colonel 
had  feared  they  would  be,  at  the  want  of  the  custom 
ary  invocation.  Widow  Leech,  a  kind  of  relation, 
who  had  to  be  invited,  and  who  came  with  her  old, 
back-country-looking  string  of  gold  beads  round  her 
neck,  seemed  to  feel  very  serious  about  it. 


108  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"If  she'd  ha'  known  that  folks  would  begrutch 
cravin'  a  blessin'  over  sech  a  heap  o'  provisions,  she  'd 
yather  ha'  staid  t'  home.  It  was  a  bad  sign,  when 
folks  wasn't  grateful  for  the  baounties  of  Provi 
dence." 

The  elder  Miss  Spinney,  to  whom  she  made  this  re 
mark,  assented  to  it,  at  the  same  time  ogling  a  piece 
of  frosted  cake,  which  she  presently  appropriated  with 
great  refinement  of  manner,  —  taking  it  between  her 
thumb  and  forefinger,  keeping  the  others  well  spread 
and  the  little  finger  in  extreme  divergence,  with  a 
graceful  undulation  of  the  neck,  and  a  queer  little 
sound  in  her  throat,  as  of  an  m  that  wanted  to  get  out 
and  perished  in  the  attempt. 

The  tables  now  presented  an  animated  spectacle. 
Young  fellows  of  the  more  dashing  sort,  with  high 
stand-up  collars  and  voluminous  bows  to  their  necker 
chiefs,  distinguished  themselves  by  cutting  up  fowls 
and  offering  portions  thereof  to  the  buxom  girls  these 
knowing  ones  had  commonly  selected. 

"A  bit  of  the  wing,  Roxy,  or  of  the  —  under 
limb?" 

The  first  laugh  broke  out  at  this,  but  it  was  pre 
mature,  a  sporadic  laugh,  as  Dr.  Kittredge  would 
have  said,  which  did  not  become  epidemic.  People 
were  very  solemn  as  yet,  many  of  them  being  new  to 
such  splendid  scenes,  and  crushed,  as  it  were,  in  the 
presence  of  so  much  crockery  and  so  many  silver 
spoons,  and  such  a  variety  of  unusual  viands  and  bev 
erages.  When  the  laugh  rose  around  Roxy  and  her 
saucy  beau,  several  looked  in  that  direction  with  an 
anxious  expression,  as  if  something  had  happened,  — 
a  lady  fainted,  for  instance,  or  a  couple  of  lively  fel 
lows  come  to  high  words. 


ELSIE  VENNER.  109 

"Young  folks  will  be  young  folks,"  said  Deacon 
Soper.  "No  harm  done.  Least  said  soonest 
mended." 

"Have  some  of  these  shell-oysters?"  said  the  Colo 
nel  to  Mrs.  Trecothick. 

A  delicate  emphasis  on  the  word  shell  implied  that 
the  Colonel  knew  what  was  what.  To  the  New  Eng 
land  inland  native,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  east  winds, 
the  oyster  unconditioned,  the  oyster  absolute,  without 
a  qualifying  adjective,  is  the  pickled  oyster.  Mrs. 
Trecothick,  who  knew  very  well  that  an  oyster  long 
out  of  his  shell  (as  is  apt  to  be  the  case  with  the  rural 
bivalve)  gets  homesick  and  loses  his  sprightliness,  re 
plied,  with  the  pleasantest  smile  in  the  world,  that  the 
chicken  she  had  been  helped  to  was  too  delicate  to  be 
given  up  even  for  the  greater  rarity.  But  the  word 
"shell-oysters"  had  been  overheard;  and  there  was  a 
perceptible  crowding  movement  towards  their  newly 
discovered  habitat,  a  large  soup-tureen. 

Silas  Peckham  had  meantime  fallen  upon  another 
locality  of  these  recent  mollusks.  He  said  nothing, 
but  helped  himself  freely,  and  made  a  sign  to  Mrs. 
Peckham. 

"Lorindy,"  he  whispered,  "shell-oysters!  " 

And  ladled  them  out  to  her  largely,,  without  betray 
ing  any  emotion,  just  as  if  they  had  been  the  natural 
inland  or  pickled  article. 

After  the  more  solid  portion  of  the  banquet  had 
been  duly  honored,  the  cakes  and  sweet  preparations 
of  various  kinds  began  to  get  their  share  of  attention. 
There  were  great  cakes  and  little  cakes,  cakes  with 
raisins  in  them,  cakes  with  currants,  and  cakes  with 
out  either ;  there  were  brown  cakes  and  yellow  cakes, 
frosted  cakes,  glazed  cakes,  hearts  and  rounds,  and 


110  ELSIE  VENNEK. 

jumbles,  which  playful  youth  slip  over  the  forefinger 
before  spoiling  their  annular  outline.  There  were 
mounds  of  blo'monje,  of  the  arrowroot  variety,  — that 
being  undistinguishable  from  such  as  is  made  with 
Russia  isinglass.  There  were  jellies,  which  had  been 
shaking,  all  the  time  the  young  folks  were  dancing  in 
the  next  room,  as  if  they  were  balancing  to  partners. 
There  were  built-up  fabrics,  called  Charlottes,  caky 
externally,  pulpy  within;  there  were  also  marangs, 
and  likewise  custards,  —  some  of  the  indolent-fluid 
sort,  others  firm,  in  which  every  stroke  of  the  teaspoon 
left  a  smooth,  conchoidal  surface  like  the  fracture  of 
chalcedony,  with  here  and  there  a  little  eye  like  what 
one  sees  in  cheeses.  Nor  was  that  most  wonderful 
object  of  domestic  art  called  trifle  wanting,  with  its 
charming  confusion  of  cream  and  cake  and  almonds 
and  jam  and  jelly  and  wine  and  cinnamon  and  froth; 
nor  yet  the  marvellous  floating -island,  —  name  sug 
gestive  of  all  that  is  romantic  in  the  imaginations  of 
youthful  palates. 

"It  must  have  cost  you  a  sight  of  work,  to  say 
nothin'  of  money,  to  get  all  this  beautiful  confection 
ery  made  for  the  party,"  said  Mrs.  Crane  to  Mrs. 
Sprowle. 

"Well,  it  cost  some  consid'able  labor,  no  doubt," 
said  Mrs.  Sprowle.  "Matilda  and  our  girls  and  I 
made  'most  all  the  cake  with  our  own  hands,  and  we 
all  feel  some  tired;  but  if  folks  get  what  suits  'em, 
we  don't  begrudge  the  time  nor  the  work.  But  I  do 
feel  thirsty,"  said  the  poor  lady,  "and  I  think  a  glass 
of  srub  would  do  my  throat  good;  it 's  dreadful  dry. 
Mr.  Peckham,  would  you  be  so  polite  as  to  pass  me 
a  glass  of  srub?  " 

Silas  Peckham  bowed  with  great  alacrity,  and  took 


ELSIE  VENNER.  Ill 

from  the  table  a  small  glass  cup,  containing  a  fluid 
reddish  in  hue  and  subacid  in  taste.  This  was  srub, 
a  beverage  in  local  repute,  of  questionable  nature,  but 
suspected  of  owing  its  tint  and  sharpness  to  some  kind 
of  syrup  derived  from  the  maroon-colored  fruit  of  the 
sumac.  There  were  similar  small  cups  on  the  table 
filled  with  lemonade,  and  here  and  there  a  decanter  of 
Madeira  wine,  of  the  Marsala  kind,  which  some  pre 
fer  to,  and  many  more  cannot  distinguish  from,  that 
which  comes  from  the  Atlantic  island. 

"Take  a  glass  of  wine,  Judge,"  said  the  Colonel; 
;'here  is  an  article  that  I  rather  think  '11  suit  you." 

The  Judge  knew  something  of  wines,  and  could  tell 
all  the  famous  old  Madeiras  from  each  other,  — 
"Eclipse,"  "Juno,"  the  almost  fabulously  scarce  and 
precious  "White-top,"  and  the  rest.  He  struck  the 
nativity  of  the  Mediterranean  Madeira  before  it  had 
fairly  moistened  his  lip. 

"A  sound  wine,  Colonel,  and  I  should  think  of  a 
genuine  vintage.  Your  very  good  health." 

"Deacon  Soper,"  said  the  Colonel,  "here  is  some 
Madary  Judge  Thornton  recommends.  Let  me  fill 
you  a  glass  of  it." 

The  Deacon's  eyes  glistened.  He  was  one  of  those 
consistent  Christians  who  stick  firmly  by  the  first  mir 
acle  and  Paul's  advice  to  Timothy. 

"A  little  good  wine  won't  hurt  anybody,"  said  the 
Deacon.  "  Plenty,  —  plenty,  —  plenty.  There !  " 
He  had  not  withdrawn  his  glass,  while  the  Colonel 
was  pouring,  for  fear  it  should  spill,  and  now  it  was 
running  over. 

—  It  is  very  odd  how  all  a  man's  philosophy  and 
theology  are  at  the  mercy  of  a  few  drops  of  a  fluid 
which  the  chemists  say  consists  of  nothing  but  C  4, 


112  ELSIE  VENNER. 

O  2,  H  6.  The  Deacon's  theology  fell  off  several 
points  towards  latitudinarianism  in  the  course  of  the 
next  ten  minutes.  He  had  a  deep  inward  sense  that 
everything  was  as  it  should  be,  human  nature  in 
cluded.  The  little  accidents  of  humanity,  known  col 
lectively  to  moralists  as  sin,  looked  very  venial  to 
his  growing  sense  of  universal  brotherhood  and  benev- 
olence. 

"It  will  all  come  right,"  the  Deacon  said  to  him 
self,  —  "I  feel  a  joyful  conviction  that  everything  is 
for  the  best.  I  am  favored  with  a  blessed  peace  of 
mind,  and  a  very  precious  season  of  good  feelin'  to 
ward  my  fellow-creturs." 

A  lusty  young  fellow  happened  to  make  a  quick  step 
backward  just  at  that  instant,  and  put  his  heel,  with 
his  weight  on  top  of  it,  upon  the  Deacon's  toes. 

"Aigh!  What  the  d'  d'  didos  are  y'  abaout  with 
them  great  huffs  o'  yourn?  "  said  the  Deacon,  with  an 
expression  upon  his  features  not  exactly  that  of  peace 
and  good-will  to  men.  The  lusty  young  fellow  apol 
ogized;  but  the  Deacon's  face  did  not  come  right,  and 
his  theology  backed  round  several  points  in  the  direc 
tion  of  total  depravity. 

Some  of  the  dashing  young  men  in  stand-up  collars 
and  extensive  neckties,  encouraged  by  Mr.  Geordie, 
made  quite  free  with  the  "Madary,"  and  even  induced 
some  of  the  more  stylish  girls  —  not  of  the  mansion- 
house  set,  but  of  the  tip-top  two-story  families  —  to 
taste  a  little.  Most  of  these  young  ladies  made  faces 
at  it,  and  declared  it  was  "perfectly  horrid,"  with 
that  aspect  of  veracity  peculiar  to  their  age  and  sex. 

About  this  time  a  movement  was  made  on  the  part 
of  some  of  the  mansion-house  people  to  leave  the  sup 
per-table.  Miss  Jane  Trecothick  had  quietly  hinted 


ELSIE   VENNER.  113 

to  her  mother  that  she  had  had  enough  of  it.  Miss 
Arabella  Thornton  had  whispered  to  her  father  that 
he  had  better  adjourn  this  court  to  the  next  room. 
There  were  signs  of  migration,  —  a  loosening  of  people 
in  their  places,  —  a  looking  about  for  arms  to  hitch 
on  to. 

"Stop!"  said  the  Colonel.  "There's  something 
coming  yet.  —  Ice-cream !  " 

The  great  folks  saw  that  the  play  was  not  over  yet, 
and  that  it  was  only  polite  to  stay  and  see  it  out.  The 
word  "ice-cream"  was  no  sooner  whispered  than  it 
passed  from  one  to  another  all  down  the  tables.  The 
effect  was  what  might  have  been  anticipated.  Many 
of  the  guests  had  never  seen  this  celebrated  product 
of  human  skill,  and  to  all  the  two-story  population 
of  Rockland  it  was  the  last  expression  of  the  art  of 
pleasing  and  astonishing  the  human  palate.  Its  ap 
pearance  had  been  deferred  for  several  reasons :  first, 
because  everybody  would  have  attacked  it,  if  it  had 
come  in  with  the  other  luxuries;  secondly,  because 
undue  apprehensions  were  entertained  (owing  to  want 
of  experience)  of  its  tendency  to  deliquesce  and  resolve 
itself  with  alarming  rapidity  into  puddles  of  creamy 
fluid;  and,  thirdly,  because  the  surprise  would  make 
a  grand  cliinax  to  finish  off  the  banquet. 

There  is  something  so  audacious  in  the  conception 
of  ice-cream,  that  it  is  not  strange  that  a  population 
undebauched  by  the  luxury  of  great  cities  looks  upon 
it  with  a  kind  of  awe  and  speaks  of  it  with  a  certain 
emotion.  This  defiance  of  the  seasons,  forcing  Na 
ture  to  do  her  work  of  congelation  in  the  face  of  her 
sultriest  noon,  might  well  inspire  a  timid  mind  with 
fear  lest  human  art  were  revolting  against  the  Higher 
Powers,  and  raise  the  same  scruples  which  resisted  the 


114  ELSIE   VENNER. 

use  of  ether  and  chloroform  in  certain  contingencies. 
Whatever  may  be  the  cause,  it  is  well  known  that  the 
announcement  at  any  private  rural  entertainment  that 
there  is  to  be  ice-cream  produces  an  immediate  and 
profound  impression.  It  may  be  remarked,  as  aiding 
this  impression,  that  exaggerated  ideas  are  entertained 
as  to  the  dangerous  effects  this  congealed  food  may 
produce  on  persons  not  in  the  most  robust  health. 

There  was  silence  as  the  pyramids  of  ice  were  placed 
on  the  table,  everybody  looking  on  in  admiration. 
The  Colonel  took  a  knife  and  assailed  the  one  at  the 
head  of  the  table.  When  he  tried  to  cut  off  a  slice, 
it  didn't  seem  to  understand  it,  however,  and  only 
tipped,  as  if  it  wanted  to  upset.  The  Colonel  at 
tacked  it  on  the  other  side,  and  it  tipped  just  as  badly 
the  other  way.  It  was  awkward  for  the  Colonel. 
"Permit  me,"  said  the  Judge, — and  he  took  the 
knife  and  struck  a  sharp  slanting  stroke  which  sliced 
off  a  piece  just  of  the  right  size,  and  offered  it  to  Mrs. 
Sprowle.  This  act  of  dexterity  was  much  admired  by 
the  company. 

The  tables  were  all  alive  again. 

"Lorindy,  here  's  a  plate  of  ice-cream,"  said  Silas 
Peckham. 

"Come,  Mahaly,"  said  a  fresh-looking  young  fellow 
with  a  saucerful  in  each  hand,  "here's  your  ice 
cream; —  let's  go  in  the  corner  and  have  a  celebra 
tion,  us  two."  And  the  old  green  de-laine,  with  the 
young  curves  under  it  to  make  it  sit  well,  moved  off 
as  pleased  apparently  as  if  it  had  been  silk  velvet  with 
thousand-dollar  laces  over  it. 

"Oh,  now,  Miss  Green!  do  you  think  it's  safe  to 
put  that  cold  stuff  into  your  stomick?"  said  the 
Widow  Leech  to  a  young  married  lady,  who,  finding 


ELSIE   VENNER.  115 

the  air  rather  warm,  thought  a  little  ice  would  cool 
her  down  very  nicely.  "It's  jest  like  eatin'  snow 
balls.  You  don't  look  very  rugged;  and  I  should  be 
dreadful  afeard,  if  I  was  you" — 

"Carrie,"  said  old  Dr.  Kittredge,  who  had  over 
heard  this,  —  "  how  well  you  're  looking  this  evening ! 
But  you  must  be  tired  and  heated ;  —  sit  down  here, 
and  let  me  give  you  a  good  slice  of  ice-cream.  How 
you  young  folks  do  grow  up,  to  be  sure!  I  don't  feel 
quite  certain  whether  it 's  you  or  your  older  sister,  but 
I  know  it 's  somebody  I  call  Carrie,  and  that  I  've 
known  ever  since  "  — 

A  sound  something  between  a  howl  and  an  oath 
startled  the  company  and  broke  off  the  Doctor's  sen 
tence.  Everybody's  eyes  turned  in  the  direction  from 
which  it  came.  A  group  instantly  gathered  round  the 
person  who  had  uttered  it,  who  was  no  other  than 
Deacon  Soper. 

"He  's  chokin'!  he  's  chokin'  !  "  was  the  first  ex 
clamation,  —  "slap  him  on  the  back  !  " 

Several  heavy  fists  beat  such  a  tattoo  on  his  spine 
that  the  Deacon  felt  as  if  at  least  one  of  his  vertebrae 
would  come  up. 

"He's  black  in  the  face,"  said  Widow  Leech, — 
"he  's  swallered  somethin'  the  wrong  way.  Where  's 
the  Doctor?  — let  the  Doctor  get  to  him,  can't  ye?" 

"If  you  will  move,  my  good  lady,  perhaps  I  can," 
said  Doctor  Kittredge,  in  a  calm  tone  of  voice.  — 
"He's  not  choking,  my  friends,"  the  Doctor  added 
immediately,  when  he  got  sight  of  him, 

"It's  apoplexy, — I  told  you  so, — don't  you  see 
how  red  he  is  in  the  face?"  said  old  Mrs.  Peake,  a 
famous  woman  for  "nussin  "  sick  folks,  — determined 
to  be  a  little  ahead  of  the  Doctor. 


116  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"It 's  not  apoplexy,"  said  Dr.  Kittredge. 

"What  is  it,  Doctor?  what  is  it?  Will  he  die? 
Is  he  dead?  —  Here  's  his  poor  wife,  the  Widow  Soper 
that  is  to  be,  if  she  a'n't  a'ready  "  — 

"Do  be  quiet,  my  good  woman,"  said  Dr.  Kit- 
tredge.  —  "Nothing  serious,  I  think,  Mrs.  Soper. — 
Deacon  !  " 

The  sudden  attack  of  Deacon  Soper  had  begun 
with  the  extraordinary  sound  mentioned  above.  His 
features  had  immediately  assumed  an  expression  of  in 
tense  pain,  his  eyes  staring  wildly,  and,  clapping  his 
Tiands  to  his  face,  he  had  rocked  his  head  backward 
and  forward  in  speechless  agony. 

At  the  Doctor's  sharp  appeal  the  Deacon  lifted  his 
head. 

"It 's  all  right,"  said  the  Doctor,  as  soon  as  he  saw 
his  face.  "The  Deacon  had  a  smart  attack  of  neu 
ralgic  pain.  That 's  all.  Very  severe,  but  not  at  all 
dangerous." 

The  Doctor  kept  his  countenance,  but  his  diaphragm 
was  shaking  the  change  in  his  waistcoat-pockets  with 
subterranean  laughter.  He  had  looked  through  his 
spectacles  and  seen  at  once  what  had  happened.  The 
Deacon,  not  being  in  the  habit  of  taking  his  nourish 
ment  in  the  congealed  state,  had  treated  the  ice-cream 
as  a  pudding  of  a  rare  species,  and,  to  make  sure  of 
doing  himself  justice  in  its  distribution,  had  taken  a 
large  mouthful  of  it  without  the  least  precaution. 
The  consequence  was  a  sensation  as  if  a  dentist  were 
killing  the  nerves  of  twenty -five  teeth  at  once  with  hot 
irons,  or  cold  ones,  which  would  hurt  rather  worse. 

The  Deacon  swallowed  something  with  a  spasmodic 
effort,  and  recovered  pretty  soon  and  received  the  con 
gratulations  of  his  friends.  There  were  different  ver- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  117 

sions  of  the  expressions  he  had  used  at  the  onset  of 
his  complaint,  —  some  of  the  reported  exclamations  in 
volving  a  breach  of  propriety,  to  say  the  least,  —  but 
it  was  agreed  that  a  man  in  an  attack  of  neuralgy 
was  n't  to  be  judged  of  by  the  rules  that  applied  to 
other  folks. 

The  company  soon  after  this  retired  from  the  sup 
per-room.  The  mansion-house  gentry  took  their 
leave,  and  the  two-story  people  soon  followed.  Mr. 
Bernard  had  stayed  an  hour  or  two,  and  left  soon  after 
he  found  that  Elsie  Venner  and  her  father  had  disap 
peared.  As  he  passed  by  the  dormitory  of  the  Insti^* 
tute,  he  saw  a  light  glimmering  from  one  of  its  upper 
rooms,  where  the  lady-teacher  was  still  waking.  His 
heart  ached,  when  he  remembered,  that,  through  all 
these  hours  of  gayety,  or  what  was  meant  for  it,  the 
patient  girl  had  been  at  work  in  her  little  chamber; 
and  he  looked  up  at  the  silent  stars,  as  if  to  see  that 
they  were  watching  over  her.  The  planet  Mars  was 
burning  like  a  red  coal ;  the  northern  constellation  was 
slanting  downward  about  its  central  point  of  flame ; 
and  while  he  looked,  a  falling  star  slid  from  the  ze 
nith  and  was  lost. 

He  reached  his  chamber  and  was   soon  dreaming 
over  the  Event  of  the  Season. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   MORNING   AFTER. 

COLONEL  SPROWLE'S  family  arose  late  the  next 
morning.  The  fatigues  and  excitements  of  the  even 
ing  and  the  preparation  for  it  were  followed  by  a  nat 
ural  collapse,  of  which  somnolence  was  a  leading 
symptom.  The  sun  shone  into  the  window  at  a  pretty 
well  opened  angle  when  the  Colonel  first  found  him 
self  sufficiently  awake  to  address  his  yet  slumbering 
spouse. 

"Sally!"  said  the  Colonel,  in  a  voice  that  was  a 
little  husky,  —  for  he  had  finished  off  the  evening  with 
an  extra  glass  or  two  of  "Madary,"  and  had  a  some 
what  rusty  and  headachy  sense  of  renewed  existence, 
on  greeting  the  rather  advanced  dawn,  —  "Sally  !  " 

"Take  care  o'  them  custard-cups!  There  they 
go!" 

Poor  Mrs.  Sprowle  was  fighting  the  party  over  in 
her  dream ;  and  as  the  visionary  custard -cups  crashed 
down  through  one  lobe  of  her  brain  into  another,  she 
gave  a  start  as  if  an  inch  of  lightning  from  a  quart 
Ley  den  jar  had  jumped  into  one  of  her  knuckles  with 
its  sudden  and  lively  poonk  ! 

"Sally  !  "  said  the  Colonel,  —  "wake  up,  wake  up  ! 
What  V  y'  dreamin'  abaout?" 

Mrs.  Sprowle  raised  herself,  by  a  sort  of  spasm, 
gur  son  scant,  as  they  say  in  France,  —  up  on  end,  as 
we  have  it  in  New  England.  She  looked  first  to  the 


ELSIE   VENNER. 

left,  then  to  the  right,  then  straight  before  her,  ap 
parently  without  seeing  anything,  and  at  last  slowly 
settled  down,  with  her  two  eyes,  blank  of  any  parti 
cular  meaning,  directed  upon  the  Colonel. 

"What  time  is  't?  "  she  said. 

"Ten  o'clock.  What  y'  been  dreamin'  abaout? 
Y'  giv  a  jump  like  a  hoppergrass.  Wake  up,  wake 
up!  Th'  party's  over,  and  y'  been  asleep  all  the 
mornin'.  The  party  's  over,  I  tell  ye  !  Wake  up  !" 

"Over!"  said  Mrs.  Sprowle,  who  began  to  define 
her  position  at  last,  —  "  over  !  I  should  think  't  was 
time  'twas  over  !  It 's  lasted  a  hundud  year.  I  've 
been  workin'  for  that  party  longer  'n  Methuselah's 
lifetime,  sence  I  been  asleep.  The  pies  would  n' 
bake,  and  the  blo'monge  would  n'  set,  and  the  ice 
cream  would  n'  freeze,  and  all  the  folks  kep'  comin' 
'n'  comin'  'n'  comin',  — everybody  I  ever  knew  in  all 
my  life,  — some  of  'em  's  been  dead  this  twenty  year 
'n'  more,  —  'n'  nothin'  for  'em  to  eat  nor  drink. 
The  fire  would  n'  burn  to  cook  anything,  all  we  could 
do.  We  blowed  with  the  belluses,  'n'  we  stuffed  in 
paper  'n'  pitch-pine  kindlin's,  but  nothin'  could  make 
that  fire  burn;  'n'  all  the  time  the  folks  kep'  comin', 
as  if  they  'd  never  stop,  —  'n'  nothin'  for  'em  but 
empty  dishes,  'n'  all  the  borrowed  chaney  slippin' 
round  on  the  waiters  'n'  chippin'  'n'  crackin', — I 
would  n'  go  through  what  I  been  through  t' -night  for 
all  th'  money  in  th'  Bank,  — I  do  believe  it 's  harder 
t'  have  a  party  than  t'  ' 

Mrs.  Sprowle  stated  the  case  strongly. 

The  Colonel  said  he  did  n't  know  how  that  might 
be.  She  was  a  better  judge  than  he  was.  It  was 
bother  enough,  anyhow,  and  he  was  glad  that  it  was 
over.  After  'this,  the  worthy  pair  commenced  prep- 


120  ELSIE   VENNER. 

arations  for  rejoining  the  waking  world,  and  in  due 
time  proceeded  down-stairs. 

Everybody  was  late  that  morning,  and  nothing  had 
got  put  to  rights.  The  house  looked  as  if  a  small 
armvilwid  been  quartered  in  it  over  night.  The  tables 
were  of  course  in  huge  disorder,  after  the  protracted 
assault  they  had  undergone.  There  had  been  a  great 
battle  evidently,  and  it  had  gone  against  the  provi 
sions.  Some  points  had  been  stormed,  and  all  their 
defences  annihilated,  but  here  and  there  were  centres 
of  resistance  which  had  held  out  against  all  attacks, 
—  large  rounds"  of  beef,  and  solid  loaves  of  cake, 
against  which  the  inexperienced  had  wasted  their  en 
ergies  in  the  enthusiasm  of  youth  or  uninformed  ma 
turity,  while  the  longer-headed  guests  were  making 
discoveries  of  "shell-oysters"  and  "patridges"  and 
similar  delicacies. 

The  breakfast  was  naturally  of  a  somewhat  frag 
mentary  character.  A  chicken  that  had  lost  his  legs 
in  the  service  of  the  preceding  campaign  was  once 
more  put  on  duty.  A  great  ham  stuck  with  cloves, 
as  Saint  Sebastian  was  with  arrows,  was  again  offered 
for  martyrdom.  It  would  have  been  a  pleasant  sight 
for  a  medical  man  of  a  speculative  turn  to  have  seen 
the  prospect  before  the  Colonel's  family  of  the  next 
week's  breakfasts,  dinners,  and  suppers.  The  trail 
that  one  of  these  great  rural  parties  leaves  after  it 
is  one  of  its  most  formidable  considerations.  Every 
door-handle  in  the  house  is  suggestive  of  sweetmeats 
for  the  next  week,  at  least.  The  most  unnatural  arti 
cles  of  diet  displace  the  frugal  but  nutritious  food  of 
unconvulsed  periods  of  existence.  If  there  is  a  walk 
ing  infant  about  the  house,  it  will  certainly  have  a 
more  or  less  fatal  fit  from  overmuch  of  some  indiges- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  121 

tible  delicacy.  Before  the  week  is  out,  everybody 
will  be  tired  to  death  of  sugary  forms  of  ">urish- 
ment  and  long  to  see  the  last  of  the  remnant  of  the 
festival. 

The  family  had  not  yet  arrived  at  this  coiiv  tion. 
On  the  contrary,  the  first  inspection  of  the  tables  sug 
gested  the  prospect  of  days  of  unstinted  luxury ;  and 
the  younger  portion  of  the  household,  especially,  were 
in  a  state  of  great  excitement  as  the  account  of  stock 
was  taken  with  reference  to  future  internal  invest 
ments.  Some  curious  facts  came  to  light  during  these 
researches. 

"Where's  all  the  oranges  gone  to?"  said  Mrs. 
Sprowle.  "  I  expected  there  'd  be  ever  so  many  of  'em 
left.  I  did  n't  see  many  of  the  folks  "eatin'  oranges. 
Where  's  the  skins  of  'em?  There  ought  to  be  six 
dozen  orange-skins  round  on  the  plates,  and  there 
a'n't  one  dozen.  And  all  the  small  cakes,  too,  and 
all  the  sugar  things  that  was  stuck  on  the  big  cakes. 
Has  anybody  counted  the  spoons?  Some  of  'em  got 
swallered,  perhaps.  I  hope  they  was  plated  ones, 
if  they  did!" 

The  failure  of  the  morning's  orange-crop  and  the 
deficit  in  other  expected  residual  delicacies  were  not 
very  difficult  to  account  for.  In  many  of  the  two- 
story  Rockland  families,  and  in  those  favored  house 
holds  of  the  neighboring  villages  whose  members  had 
been  invited  to  the  great  party,  there  was  a  very  gen 
eral  excitement  among  the  younger  people  on  the 
morning  after  the  great  event.  "  Did  y '  bring  home 
somethin'  from  the  party?  What  is  it?  What  is  it? 
Is  it  f rut-cake?  Is  it  nuts  and  oranges  and  apples? 
Give  me  some!  Give  me  some  !"  Such  a  concert 
of  treble  voices  uttering  accents  like  these  had  not 


122  ELSIE   VENNER. 

been  heard  since  the  great  Temperance  Festival  with 
the  celebrated  "eolation"  in  the  open  air  under  the 
trees  of  the  Parnassian  Grove,  —  as  the  place  was 
christened  by  the  young  ladies  of  the  Institute.  The 
cry  of  the  children  was  not  in  vain.  From  the  pock 
ets  of  demure  fathers,  from  the  bags  of  sharp-eyed 
spinsters,  from  the  folded  handkerchiefs  of  light-fin= 
gered  sisters,  from  the  tall  hats  of  sly-winking  bro 
thers,  there  was  a  resurrection  of  the  missing  oranges 
and  cakes  and  sugar -things  in  many  a  rejoicing  family- 
circle,  enough  to  astonish  the  most  hardened  "caterer  " 
tha,t  ever  contracted  to  feed  a  thousand  people  under 
canvas. 

The  tender  recollections  of  those  dear  little  ones 
whom  extreme  youth  or  other  pressing  considerations 
detain  from  scenes  of  festivity  —  a  trait  of  affection 
by  no  means  uncommon  among  our  thoughtful  people 
—  dignifies  those  social  meetings  where  it  is  mani 
fested,  and  sheds  a  ray  of  sunshine  on  our  common 
nature.  It  is  "an  oasis  in  the  desert,"  —  to  use  the 
striking  expression  of  the  last  year's  "Valedictorian" 
of  the  Apollinean  Institute.  In  the  midst  of  so  much 
that  is  purely  selfish,  it  is  delightful  to  meet  such  dis 
interested  care  for  others.  When  a  large  family  of 
children  are  expecting  a  parent's  return  from  an  en 
tertainment,  it  will  often  require  great  exertions  on 
his  part  to  freight  himself  so  as  to  meet  their  reason 
able  expectations.  A  few  rules  are  worth  remember 
ing  by  all  who  attend  anniversary  dinners  in  Faneuil 
Hall  or  elsewhere.  Thus :  Lobsters'  claws  are  always 
acceptable  to  children  of  all  ages.  Oranges  and  ap= 
pies  are  to  be  taken  one  at  a  time,  until  the  coat-pock 
ets  begin  to  become  inconveniently  heavy.  Cakes  are 
injured  by  sitting  upon  them ;  it  is,  therefore,  well  to 


ELSIE   VENNER.  123 

carry  a  stout  tin  box  of  a  size  to  hold  as  many  pieces 
as  there  are  children  in  the  domestic  circle.  A  very 
pleasant  amusement,  at  the  close  of  one  of  these  ban 
quets,  is  grabbing  for  the  flowers  with  which  the 
table  is  embellished.  These  will  please  the  ladies  at 
home  very  greatly,  and,  if  the  children  are  at  the  same 
time  abundantly  supplied  with  fruits,  nuts,  cakes, 
and  any  little  ornamental  articles  of  confectionery 
which  are  of  a  nature  to  be  unostentatiously  removed, 
the  kind-hearted  parent  will  make  a  whole  household 
happy,  without  any  additional  expense  beyond  the  out 
lay  for  his  ticket. 

There  were  fragmentary  delicacies  enough  left,  of 
one  kind  and  another,  at  any  rate,  to  make  all  the 
Colonel's  family  uncomfortable  for  the  next  week. 
It  bid  fair  to  take  as  long  to  get  rid  of  the  remains  of 
the  great  party  as  it  had  taken  to  make  ready  for  it. 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Bernard  had  been  dreaming, 
as  young  men  dream,  of  gliding  shapes  with  bright 
eyes  and  burning  cheeks,  strangely  blended  with  red 
planets  and  hissing  meteors,  and,  shining  over  all,  the 
white,  unwandering  star  of  the  North,  girt  with  its 
tethered  constellations. 

After  breakfast  he  walked  into  the  parlor,  where 
he  found  Miss  Darley.  She  was  alone,  and,  holding 
a  school-book  in  her  hand,  was  at  work  with  one  of 
the  morning's  lessons.  She  hardly  noticed  him  as  he 
entered,  being  very  busy  with  her  book,  —  and  he 
paused  a  moment  before  speaking,  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  kind  of  reverence.  It  would  not  have  been 
strictly  true  to  call  her  beautiful.  For  years,  —  since 
her  earliest  womanhood,  —  those  slender  hands  had 
taken  the  bread  which  repaid  the  toil  of  heart  and 
brain  from  the  coarse  palms  which  offered  it  in  the 


124  ELSIE   VENNEK. 

world's  rude  market.  It  was  not  for  herself  alone 
that  she  had  bartered  away  the  life  of  her  youth,  that 
she  had  breathed  the  hot  air  of  schoolrooms,  that  she 
had  forced  her  intelligence  to  posture  before  her  will, 
as  the  exigencies  of  her  place  required,  —  waking  to 
mental  labor,  —  sleeping  to  dream  of  problems,  — roll 
ing  up  the  stone  of  education  for  an  endless  twelve 
month's  term,  to  find  it  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  again 
when  another  year  called  her  to  its  renewed  duties,  — 
schooling  her  temper  in  unending  inward  and  outward 
conflicts,  until  neither  dulness  nor  obstinacy  nor  in 
gratitude  nor  insolence  could  reach  her  serene  self- 
possession.  Not  for  herself  alone.  Poorly  as  her 
prodigal  labors  were  repaid  in  proportion  to  the  waste 
of  life  they  cost,  her  value  was  too  well  established  to 
leave  her  without  what,  under  other  circumstances, 
would  have  been  a  more  than  sufficient  compensation. 
But  there  were  others  who  looked  to  her  in  their 
need,  and  so  the  modest  fountain  which  might  have 
been  filled  to  its  brim  was  continually  drained  through 
silent-flowing,  hidden  sluices. 

Out  of  such  a  life,  inherited  from  a  race  which  had 
lived  in  conditions  not  unlike  her  own,  beauty,  in  the 
common  sense  of  the  term,  could  hardly  find  leisure  to 
develop  and  shape  itself.  For  it  must  be  remembered, 
that  symmetry  and  elegance  of  features  and  figure, 
like  perfectly  formed  crystals  in  the  mineral  world, 
are  reached  only  by  insuring  a  certain  necessary  re 
pose  to  individuals  and  to  generations.  Human 
beauty  is  an  agricultural  product  in  the  country, 
growing  up  in  men  and  women  as  in  corn  and  cattle, 
where  the  soil  is  good.  It  is  a  luxury  almost  monop 
olized  by  the  rich  in  cities,  bred  under  glass  like  their 
forced  pine-apples  and  peaches.  Both  in  city  and 


ELSIE   VENNER.  125 

eountry,  the  evolution  of  the  physical  harmonies 
which  make  music  to  our  eyes  requires  a  combination 
of  favorable  circumstances,  of  which  alternations  of 
unburdened  tranquillity  with  intervals  of  varied  ex 
citement  of  mind  and  body  are  among  the  most  im 
portant.  (Where  sufficient  excitement  is  wanting,  as 
often  happens  in  the  country,  the  features,  however 
rich  in  red  and  white,  get  heavy,  and  the  movements 
sluggish;  where  excitement  is  furnished  in  excess,  as 
is  frequently  the  case  in  cities,  the  contours  and  colors 
are  impoverished,  and  the  nerves  begin  to  make  their 
existence  known  to  the  consciousness,  as  the  face  very 
soon  informs  us.} 

Helen  Darley  could  not,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
have  possessed  the  kind  of  beauty  which  pleases  the 
common  taste.  Her  eye  was  calm,  sad-looking,  her 
features  very  still,  except  when  her  pleasant  smile 
changed  them  for  a  moment,  all  her  outlines  were  del 
icate,  her  voice  was  very  gentle,  but  somewhat  subdued 
by  years  of  thoughtful  labor,  and  on  har  smooth  fore 
head  one  little  hinted  line  whispered  already  that 
Care  was  beginning  to  mark  the  trace  which  Time 
sooner  or  later  would  make  a  furrow.  She  could  not 
be  a  beauty ;  if  she  had  been,  it  would  have  been 
much  harder  for  many  persons  to  be  interested  in  her. 
For,  although  in  the  abstract  we  all  love  beauty,  and 
although,  if  we  were  sent  naked  souls  into  some  ultra 
mundane  warehouse  of  soulless  bodies  ,and  told  to  se 
lect  one  to  our  liking,  we  should  each  choose  a  hand 
some  one,  and  never  think  of  the  consequences, — it 
is  quite  certain  that  beauty  carries  an  atmosphere  of 
repulsion  as  well  as  of  attraction  with  it,  alike  in  both 
sexes.  We  may  be  well  assured  that  there  are  many 
persons  who  no  more  think  of  specializing  their  love 


126  ELSIE   VENNER. 

of  the  other  sex  upon  one  endowed  with  signal  beauty, 
than  they  think  of  wanting  great  diamonds  or  thou 
sand-dollar  horses.  No  man  or  woman  can  appro 
priate  beauty  without  paying  for  it,  —  in  endowments, 
in  fortune,  in  position,  in  self-surrender,  or  other 
valuable  stock;  and  there  are  a  great  many  who  are 
too  poor,  too  ordinary,  too  humble,  too  busy,  too 
proud,  to  pay  any  of  these  prices  for  it.  So  the  un- 
beautiful  get  many  more  lovers  than  the  beauties; 
only,  as  there  are  more  of  them,  their  lovers  are 
spread  thinner  and  do  not  make  so  much  show. 

The  young  master  stood  looking  at  Helen  Darley 
with  a  kind  of  tender  admiration.  She  was  such  a 
picture  of  the  martyr  by  the  slow  social  combustive 
process,  that  it  almost  seemed  to  him  he  could  see  a 
pale  lambent  nimbus  round  her  head. 

"I  did  not  see  you  at  the  great  party  last  evening," 
he  said,  presently. 

She  looked  up  and  answered,  "No.  I  have  not 
much  taste  for  such  large  companies.  Besides,  I  do 
not  feel  as  if  my  time  belonged  to  me  after  it  has  been 
paid  for.  There  is  always  something  to  do,  some  les 
son  or  exercise,  —  and  it  so  happened,  I  was  very  busy 
last  night  with  the  new  problems  in  geometry.  I 
hope  you  had  a  good  time." 

"Very.  Two  or  three  of  our  girls  were  there. 
Rosa  Milburn.  What  a  beauty  she  is!  I  wonder 
what  she  feeds  on!  Wine  and  musk  and  chloroform 
and  coals  of  fire,  I  believe ;  I  did  n't  think  there  was 
such  color  and  flavor  in  a  woman  outside  the  tropics." 

Miss  Darley  smiled  rather  faintly ;  the  imagery  was 
not  just  to  her  taste:  femindty  often  finds  it  very 
hard  to  accept  the  fact  of  muliebrity. 

"Was"—? 


ELSIE   VENNER. 

She  stopped  short;  but  her  question  had  as 
self. 

"Elsie  there?  She  was,  for  an  hour  or  so.  She 
looked  frightfully  handsome.  I  meant  to  have  spoken 
to  her,  but  she  slipped  away  before  I  knew  it." 

"I  thought  she  meant  to  go  to  the  party,"  said 
Miss  Darley.  "Did  she  look  at  you?  " 

"She  did.     Why?" 

"And  you  did  not  speak  to  her?  " 

"No.  I  should  have  spoken  to  her,  but  she  was 
gone  when  I  looked  for  her.  A  strange  creature! 
Isn't  there  an  odd  sort  of  fascination  about  her? 
You  have  not  explained  all  the  mystery  about  the  girl. 
What  does  she  come  to  this  school  for?  She  seems 
to  do  pretty  much  as  she  likes  about  studying." 

Miss  Darley  answered  in  very  low  tones.  "  It  was 
a  fancy  of  hers  to  come,  and  they  let  her  have  her 
way.  I  don't  know  what  there  is  about  her,  except 
that  she  seems  to  take  my  life  out  of  me  when  she 
looks  at  me.  I  don't  like  to  ask  other  people  about 
our  girls.  She  says  very  little  to  anybody,  and  stud 
ies,  or  makes  believe  to  study,  almost  what  she  likes. 
I  don't  know  what  she  is,"  (Miss  Darley  laid  her 
hand,  trembling,  on  the  young  master's  sleeve,)  "but 
I  can  tell  when  she  is  in  the  room  without  seeing  or 
hearing  her.  (  Oh,  Mr.  Langdon,  I  am  weak  and  ner 
vous,  and  no  doubt  foolish, — but  —  if  there  were 
women  now,  as  in  the  days  of  our  Saviour,  possessed 
of  devils,  I  should  think  there  was  something  not 
human  looking  out  of  Elsie  Vernier's  eyes!/ 

The  poor  girl's  breast  rose  and  fell  tuinultuously  as 
she  spoke,  and  her  voice  labored,  as  if  some  obstruc 
tion  were  rising  in  her  throat. 

A  scene  might  possibly  have  come  of  it,  but  the 


128  ELSIE  VENNER. 

door  opened.     Mr.  Silas  Peckham.     Miss  Darley  got 
away  as  soon  as  she  well  could. 

"Why  did  not  Miss  Darley  go  to  the  party  last 
evening?  "  said  Mr.  Bernard. 

"Well,  the  fact  is,"  answered  Mr.  Silas  Peckham, 
"Miss  Darley,  she  's  pooty  much  took  up  with  the 
school.  She's  an  industris  young  woman, — yis, 
she  is  industris,  — but  perhaps  she  a'n't  quite  so  spry 
a  worker  as  some.  Maybe,  considerin'  she  's  paid  for 
her  time,  she  is  n't  fur  out  o'  the  way  in  occoopyin' 
herself  evenin's, — that  is,  if  so  be  she  a'n't  smart 
enough  to  finish  up  all  her  work  in  the  daytime.  Ed- 
oocation  is  the  great  business  of  the  Institoot. 
Amoosements  are  objec's  of  a  secondary  natur',  ac- 
cordin'  to  my  v'oo."  [The  unspellable  pronunciation 
of  this  word  is  the  touchstone  of  New  England  Brah- 
minism.] 

Mr.  Bernard  drew  a  deep  breath,  his  thin  nostrils 
dilating,  as  if  the  air  did  not  rush  in  fast  enough  to 
cool  his  blood,  while  Silas  Peckham  was  speaking. 
The  Head  of  the  Apollinean  Institute  delivered  him 
self  of  these  judicious  sentiments  in  that  peculiar  acid, 
penetrating  tone,  thickened  with  a  nasal  twang,  which 
not  rarely  becomes  hereditary  after  three  or  four  gen* 
erations  raised  upon  east  winds,  salt  fish,  and  large 
white-bellied,  pickled  cucumbers.  He  spoke  deliber 
ately,  as  if  weighing  his  words  well,  so  that,  during 
his  few  remarks,  Mr.  Bernard  had  time  for  a  mental 
accompaniment  with  variations,  accented  by  certain 
bodily  changes,  which  escaped  Mr.  Peckham's  obser 
vation.  First  there  was  a  feeling  of  disgust  and  shame 
at  hearing  Helen  Darley  spoken  of  like  a  dumb  work 
ing  animal.  That  sent  the  blood  up  into  his  cheeks. 
Then  the  slur  upon  her  probable  want  of  force  — 


ELSIE   VENNER.  129 

incapacity,  who  made  the  character  of  the  school  and 
left  this  man  to  pocket  its  profits  —  sent  a  thrill  of 
the  old  Wentworth  fire  through  him,  so  that  his  mus 
cles  hardened,  his  hands  closed,  and  he  took  the  meas 
ure  of  Mr.  Silas  Peckham,  to  see  if  his  head  would 
strike  the  wall  in  case  he  went  over  backwards  all  of 
a  sudden.  This  would  not  do,  of  course,  and  so  the 
thrill  passed  off  and  the  muscles  softened  again, 
Then  came  that  state  of  tenderness  in  the  heart,  over 
lying  wrath  in  the  stomach,  in  which  the  eyes  grow 
moist  like  a  woman's,  and  there  is  also  a  great  boil- 
ing-up  of  objectionable  terms  out  of  the  deep-water 
vocabulary,  so  that  Prudence  and  Propriety  and  all 
the  other  pious  P's  have  to  jump  upon  the  lid  of  speech 
to  keep  them  from  boiling  over  into  fierce  articulation. 
All  this  was  internal,  chiefly,  and  of  course  not  recog 
nized  by  Mr.  Silas  Peckham.  The  idea,  that  any 
full-grown,  sensible  man  should  have  any  other  notion 
than  that  of  getting  the  most  work  for  the  least  money 
out  of  his  assistants,  had  never  suggested  itself  to  him. 

Mr.  Bernard  had  gone  through  this  paroxysm,  and 
cooled  down,  in  the  period  while  Mr.  Peckham  was 
uttering  these  words  in  his  thin,  shallow  whine,  twang 
ing  up  into  the  frontal  sinuses.  What  was  the  use  of 
losing  his  temper  and  throwing  away  his  place,  and 
so,  among  the  consequences  which  would  necessarily 
follow,  leaving  the  poor  lady -teacher  without  a  friend 
to  stand  by  her  ready  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  grand- 
inquisitor  before  the  windlass  of  his  rack  had  taken 
one  turn  too  many  ? 

"No  doubt,  Mr.  Peckham,"  he  said,  in  a  grave, 
calm  voice,  "there  is  a  great  deal  of  work  to  be  done 
in  the  school;  but  perhaps  we  can  distribute  the  du 
ties  a  little  more  evenly  after  a  time.  I  shall  look 


130  ELSIE   VENNER. 

over  the  girls'  themes  myself,  after  this  week.  Per 
haps  there  will  be  some  other  parts  of  her  labor  that 
I  can  take  on  myself.  We  can  arrange  a  new  pro 
gramme  of  studies  and  recitations." 

"We  can  do  that,"  said  Mr.  Silas  Peckham. 
"But  I  don't  propose  mater 'lly  alterin'  Miss  Darley's 
dooties.  I  don't  think  she  works  to  hurt  herself. 
Some  of  the  Trustees  have  proposed  interdoosin'  new 
branches  of  study,  and  I  expect  you  will  be  pooty 
much  occoopied  with  the  dooties  that  belong  to  your 
place.  On  the  Sahbath  you  will  be  able  to  attend 
divine  service  three  times,  which  is  expected  of  our 
teachers.  I  shall  continoo  myself  to  give  Sahbath 
Scriptur'-readin's  to  the  young  ladies.  That  is  a  sol 
emn  dooty  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  to  commit  to 
other  people.  My  teachers  enjoy  the  Lord's  day  as 
a  day  of  rest.  In  it  they  do  no  manner  of  work,  — 
except  in  cases  of  necessity  or  mercy,  such  as  fillin' 
out  diplomas,  or  when  we  git  crowded  jest  at  the  end 
of  a  term,  or  when  there  is  an  extry  number  of  p'oo- 
pils,  or  other  Providential  call  to  dispense  with  the 
ordinance." 

Mr.  Bernard  had  a  fine  glow  in  his  cheeks  by  this 
time,  —  doubtless  kindled  by  the  thought  of  the  kind 
consideration  Mr.  Peckham  showed  for  his  subordi 
nates  in  allowing  them  the  between  meeting-time  on 
Sundays  except  for  some  special  reason.  But  the 
morning  was  wearing  away ;  so  he  went  to  the  school 
room,  taking  leave  very  properly  of  his  respected 
principal,  who  soon  took  his  hat  and  departed. 

Mr.  Peckham  visited  certain  "stores"  or  shops, 
where  he  made  inquiries  after  various  articles  in  the 
provision-line,  and  effected  a  purchase  or  two.  Two 
or  three  barrels  of  potatoes,  which  had  spr< 


ELSIE   VENNEI  ^_L 

promising  way,  he  secured  at  a  bargain.  A  side  of 
feminine  beef  was  also  obtained  at  a  low  figure.  He 
was  entirely  satisfied  with  a  couple  of  barrels  of  flour, 
which,  being  invoiced  "slightly  damaged,"  were  to  be 
had  at  a  reasonable  price. 

After  this,  Silas  Peckham  felt  in  good  spirits.  He 
had  done  a  pretty  stroke  of  business.  It  came  into 
his  head  whether  he  might  not  follow  it  up  with  a  still 
more  brilliant  speculation.  So  he  turned  his  steps  in 
the  direction  of  Colonel  Sprowle's. 

It  was  now  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  battle-field  of 
last  evening  was  as  we  left  it.  Mr.  Peckham' s  visit 
was  unexpected,  perhaps  not  very  well  timed,  but  the 
Colonel  received  him  civilly. 

"Beautifully  lighted, — these  rooms  last  night!" 
said  Mr.  Peckham.  "Winter-strained?" 

The  Colonel  nodded. 

"How  much  do  you  pay  for  your  winter-strained?  " 

The  Colonel  told  him  the  price. 

"Very  hahnsome  supper, — very  hahnsome.  No- 
thin'  ever  seen  like  it  in  Rockland.  Must  have  been 
a  great  heap  of  things  left  over." 

The  compliment  was  not  ungrateful,  and  the  Colo 
nel  acknowledged  it  by  smiling  and  saying,  "I  should 
think  the'  was  a  trifle!  Come  and  look." 

When  Silas  Peckham  saw  how  many  delicacies  had 
survived  the  evening's  conflict,  his  commercial  spirit 
rose  at  once  to  the  point  of  a  proposal. 

"Colonel  Sprowle,"  said  he,  "there's  meat  and 
cakes  and  pies  and  pickles  enough  on  that  table  to 
spread  a  hahnsome  eolation.  If  you  'd  like  to  trade 
reasonable,  I  think  perhaps  I  should  bo  willin'  to 
take  'em  off  your  hands.  There  's  been  a  talk  about 
our  havin'  a  celebration  in  the  Parnassian  Grove,  and 


132  *       ELSIE   VENNEB. 

I  think  I  could  work  in  what  your  folks  don't  want 
and  make  myself  whole  by  chargin'  a  small  sum  for 
tickets.  Broken  meats,  of  course,  a'n't  of  the  same 
valoo  as  fresh  provisions;  so  I  think  you  might  be 
willin'  to  trade  reasonable." 

Mr.  Peckham  paused  and  rested  on  his  proposal. 
It  would  not,  perhaps,  have  been  very  extraordinary, 
if  Colonel  Sprowle  had  entertained  the  proposition. 
There  is  no  telling  beforehand  how  such  things  will 
strike  people.  It  didn't  happen  to  strike  the  Colonel 
favorably.  He  had  a  little  red-blooded  manhood  in 
him. 

"Sell  you  them  things  to  make  a  eolation  out  of  ?  " 
the  Colonel  replied.  "Walk  up  to  that  table,  Mr. 
Peckham,  and  help  yourself !  Fill  your  pockets,  Mr. 
Peckham  !  Fetch  a  basket,  and  our  hired  folks  shall 
fill  it  full  for  ye  !  Send  a  cart,  if  y'  like,  'n'  carry  off 
them  leavin's  to  make  a  celebration  for  your  pupils 
with!  Only  let  me  tell  ye  this:  —  as  sure 's  my 
name  's  Hezekiah  Spraowle,  you  '11  be  known  through 
the  taown  'n'  through  the  caounty,  from  that  day  for- 
rard,  as  the  Principal  of  the  Broken-Victuals  Insti- 
toot!" 

Even  provincial  human-nature  sometimes  has  a 
touch  of  sublimity  about  it.  Mr.  Silas  Peckham 
had  gone  a  little  deeper  than  he  meant,  and  come 
upon  the  "hard  pan,  "as  the  well-diggers  call  it,  of  the 
Colonel's  character,  before  he  thought  of  it.  A  mi 
litia-colonel  standing  on  his  sentiments  is  not  to  be 
despised.  That  was  shown  pretty  well  in  New  Eng 
land  two  or  three  generations  ago.  There  were  a 
good  many  plain  officers  that  talked  about  their  "rigi- 
ment "  and  their  "caounty  "  who  knew  very  well  how 
to  say  "Make  ready!"  "Take  aim!"  "Fire!"  — in 


ELSIE   VEKNEE.  133 

the  face  of  a  line  of  grenadiers  with  bullets  in  their 
guns  and  bayonets  on  them.  And  though  a  rustic 
uniform  is  not  always  unexceptionable  in  its  cut  and 
trimmings,  yet  there  was  many  an  ill -made  coat  in 
those  old  times  that  was  good  enough  to  be  shown  to 
the  enemy's  front  rank  too  often  to  be  left  on  the  field 
with  a  round  hole  in  its  left  lapel  that  matched  an= 
other  going  right  through  the  brave  heart  of  the  plain 
country  captain  or  major  or  colonel  who  was  buried  in 
it  under  the  crimson  turf. 

Mr.  Silas  Peckham  said  little  or  nothing.  His 
sensibilities  were  not  acute,  but  he  perceived  that  he 
had  made  a  miscalculation.  He  hoped  that  there  was 
no  offence,  —  thought  it  might  have  been  mutooally 
agreeable,  conclooded  he  would  give  up  the  idee  of  a 
eolation,  and  backed  himself  out  as  if  unwilling  to  ex 
pose  the  less  guarded  aspect  of  his  person  to  the  risk 
of  accelerating  impulses. 

The  Colonel  shut  the  door,  —  cast  his  eye  on  the  toe 
of  his  right  boot,  as  if  it  had  had  a  strong  temptation, 
—  looked  at  his  watch,  then  round  the  room,  and, 
going  to  a  cupboard,  swallowed  a  glass  of  deep-red 
brandy  and  water  to  compose  his  feelings. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

i 
THE  DOCTOR  ORDERS   THE  BEST   gmLKT. 

(  With  a  Digression  on  "  Hired  Help."  ) 

"ABEL,!  Slip  Cassia  into  the  new  sulky,  and  fetch 
her  round." 

Abel  was  Dr.  Kittredge's  hired  man.  tie  was 
born  in  New  Hampshire,  a  queer  sort  of  State,  with 
fat  streaks  of  soil  and  population  where  they  breed 
giants  in  mind  and  body,  and  lean  streaks  which  ex 
port  imperfectly  nourished  young  men  with  promising 
but  neglected  appetites,  who  may  be  found  in  great 
numbers  in  all  the  large  towns,  or  could  be  until  of 
late  years,  when  they  have  been  half  driven  out  of 
their  favorite  basement-stories  by  foreigners,  and  half 
coaxed  away  from  them  by  California.  New  Hamp 
shire  is  in  more  than  one  sense  the  Switzerland  of 
New  England.  The  "Granite  State"  being  naturally 
enough  deficient  in  pudding-stone,  its  children  are  apt 
to  wander  southward  in  search  of  that  deposit,  —  in 
the  unpetrified  condition. 

Abel  Stebbins  was  a  good  specimen  of  that  extraor 
dinary  hybrid  or  mule  between  democracy  and  chry 
socracy,  a  native-born  New-England  serving-man. 
The  Old  World  has  nothing  at  all  like  him.  He  is 
at  once  an  emperor  and  a  subordinate.  In  one  hand 
he  holds  one  five -millionth  part  (be  the  same  more  or 
less)  of  the  power  that  sways  the  destinies  of  the  Great 
Republic.  His  other  hand  is  in  your  boot,  which  he 


ELSIE   VENNER. 

is  about  to  polish.  It  is  impossible  to  turn  a  fello9w" 
citizen  whose  vote  may  make  his  master  —  say,  rather, 
employer  —  Governor  or  President,  or  who  may  be 
one  or  both  himself,  into  a  flunky.  That  article  must 
be  imported  ready-made  from  other  centres  of  civil 
ization.  When  a  New  Englander  has  lost  his  self- 
respect  as  a  citizen  and  as  a  man,  he  is  demoralized, 
and  cannot  be  trusted  with  the  money  to  pay  for  a 
dinner. 

It  may  be  supposed,  therefore,  that  this  fractional 
emperor,  this  continent-shaper,  finds  his  position  awk 
ward  when  he  goes  into  service,  and  that  his  employer 
is  apt  to  find  it  still  more  embarrassing.  It  is  always 
under  protest  that  the  hired  man  does  his  duty.  Every 
act  of  service  is  subject  to  the  drawback,  "I  am  as 
good  as  you  are."  This  is  so  common,  at  least,  as 
almost  to  be  the  rule,  and  partly  accounts  for  the 
rapid  disappearance  of  the  indigenous  "domestic" 
from  the  basements  above  mentioned.  Paleontolo 
gists  will  by  and  by  be  examining  the  floors  of  our 
kitchens  for  tracks  of  the  extinct  native  species  of 
serving-man.  The  female  of  the  same  race  is  fast 
dying  out ;  indeed,  the  time  is  not  far  distant  when 
all  the  varieties  of  young  woman  will  have  vanished 
from  New  England,  as  the  dodo  has  perished  in  the 
Mauritius.  The  young  lady  is  all  that  we  shall  have 
left,  and  the  mop  and  duster  of  the  last  Almira  or 
Loizy  will  be  stared  at  by  generations  of  Bridgets  and 
Noras  as  that  famous  head  and  foot  of  the  lost  bird 
are  stared  at  in  the  Ashmolean  Museum. 

Abel  Stebbins,  the  Doctor's  man,  took  the  true 
American  view  of  his  difficult  position.  He  sold  his 
time  to  the  Doctor,  and,  having  sold  it,  he  took  care 
to  fulfil  his  half  of  the  bargain.  The  Doctor,  on  his 


ELSIE   VENNER 

Ac,  treated  him,  not  like  a  gentleman,  because  one 
does  not  order  a  gentleman  to  bring  up  his  horse  or 
run  his  errands,  but  he  treated  him  like  a  man. 
Every  order  was  given  in  courteous  terms.  His  rea 
sonable  privileges  were  respected  as  much  as  if  they 
had  been  guaranteed  under  hand  and  seal.  The  Doc^ 
tor  lent  him  books  from  his  own  library,  and  gave 
him  all  friendly  counsel,  as  if  he  were  a  son  or  a 
younger  brother. 

Abel  had  Revolutionary  blood  in  his  veins,  and 
though  he  saw  fit  to  "hire  out,"  he  could  never  stand 
the  word  "servant,"  or  consider  himself  the  inferior 
one  of  the  two  high  contracting  parties.  When  he 
came  to  live  with  the  Doctor,  he  made  up  his  mind  he 
would  dismiss  the  old  gentleman,  if  he  did  not  behave 
according  to  his  notions  of  propriety.  But  he  soon 
found  that  the  Doctor  was  one  of  the  right  sort,  and 
so  determined  to  keep  him.  The  Doctor  soon  found, 
on  his  side,  that  he  had  a  trustworthy,  intelligent  fel 
low,  who  would  be  invaluable  to  him,  if  he  only  let 
him  have  his  own  way  of  doing  what  was  to  be  done. 

The  Doctor's  hired  man  had  not  the  manners  of  a 
French  valet.  He  was  grave  and  taciturn  for  the 
most  part,  he  never  bowed  and  rarely  smiled,  but 
was  always  at  work  in  the  daytime,  and  always  read 
ing  in  the  evening.  He  was  hostler,  and  did  all  the 
housework  that  a  man  could  properly  do,  would  go 
to  the  door  or  "tend  table,"  bought  the  provisions  for 
the  family,  —  in  short,  did  almost  everything  for  them 
but  get  their  clothing.  There  was  no  office  in  a  per 
fectly  appointed  household,  from  that  of  steward  down 
to  that  of  stable-boy,  which  he  did  not  cheerfully  as 
sume.  His  round  of  work  not  consuming  all  hid 
energies,  he  must  needs  cultivate  the  Doctor's  garden, 


ELSIE  VENNER. 

which  he  kept  in  one  perpetual  bloom,  from  the  blow 
ing  of  the  first  crocus  to  the  fading  of 'the  last  dahlia. 

This  garden  was  Abel's  poem.  Its  half-dozen  beds 
were  so  many  cantos.  Nature  crowded  them  for  him 
with  imagery  such  as  no  Laureate  could  copy  in  the 
cold  mosaic  of  language.  The  rhythm  of  alternating 
dawn  and  sunset,  the  strophe  and  antistrophe  still 
perceptible  through  all  the  sudden  shifts  of  our  dithy- 
rambic  seasons  and  echoed  in  corresponding  floral 
harmonies,  made  melody  in  the  soul  of  Abel,  the  plain 
serving-man.  It  softened  his  whole  otherwise  rigid 
aspect.  He  worshipped  God  according  to  the  strict 
way  of  his  fathers;  but  a  florist's  Puritanism  is  al 
ways  colored  by  the  petals  of  his  flowers,  —  and  Na 
ture  never  shows  him  a  black  corolla. 

He  may  or  may  not  figure  again  in  this  narrative ; 
but  as  there  must  be  some  who  confound  the  New- 
England  hired  man,  native-born,  with  the  servant  of 
foreign  birth,  and  as  there  is  the  difference  of  two  con 
tinents  and  two  civilizations  between  them,  it  did  not 
seem  fair  to  let  Abel  bring  round  the  Doctor's  mare 
and  sulky  without  touching  his  features  in  half -shadow 
into  our  background. 

The  Doctor's  mare,  Cassia,  was. so  called  by  her 
master  from  her  cinnamon  color,  cassia  being  one  of 
the  professional  names  for  that  spice  or  drug.  She 
was  of  the  shade  we  call  sorrel,  or,  as  an  Englishman 
would  perhaps  say,  chestnut,  — a  genuine  "Morgan  " 
mare,  with  a  low  forehand,  as  is  common  in  this 
breed,  but  with  strong  quarters  and  flat  hocks,  well 
ribbed  up,  with  a  good  eye  and  a  pair  of  lively  ears, 
—  a  first-rate  doctor's  beast,  — would  stand  until  her 
harness  dropped  off  her  back  at  the  door  of  a  tedious 
case,  and  trot  over  hill  and  dale  thirty  miles  in  three 


138  ELSIE   VENNER. 

hours,  if  there  was  a  child  in  the  next  county  with  a 
bean  in  its  windpipe  and  the  Doctor  gave  her  a  hint  of 
the  fact.  Cassia  was  not  large,  but  she  had  a  good 
deal  of  action,  and  was  the  Doctor's  show-horse. 
There  were  two  other  animals  in  his  stable :  Quassia 
or  Quashy,  the  black  horse,  and  Caustic,  the  old  bay, 
with  whom  he  jogged  round  the  village. 

"A  long  ride  to-day?"  said  Abel,  as  he  brought 
up  the  equipage. 

"Just  out  of  the  village,  — that 's  all.  — There 's  a 
kink  in  her  mane,  — pull  it  out,  will  you?  " 

"Goin'  to  visit  some  of  the  great  folks,"  Abel  said 
to  himself.  "Wonder  who  it  is." — -Then  to  the 
Doctor,  —  "Anybody  get  sick  at  Sprowles's?  They 
say  Deacon  Soper  had  a  fit,  after  eatin'  some  o'  their 
frozen  victuals." 

The  Doctor  smiled.  He  guessed  the  Deacon  would 
do  well  enough.  He  was  only  going  to  ride  over  to 
the  Dudley  mansion-house. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  DOCTOR  CALLS  ON  ELSIE  VENNER. 

IP  that  primitive  physician,  CHIRON,  M.  D.,  ap 
pears  as  a  Centaur,  as  we  look  at  him  through  the 
lapse  of  thirty  centuries,  the  modern  Country-doctor, 
if  he  could  be  seen  about  thirty  miles  off,  could  not  be 
distinguished  from  a  wheel-animalcule.  He  inhabits 
a  wheel-carriage.  He  thinks  of  stationary  dwellings 
as  Long  Tom  Coffin  did  of  land  in  general ;  a  house 
may  be  well  enough  for  incidental  purposes,  but  for  a 
"stiddy"  residence  give  him  a  "kerridge."  If  he  is 
classified  in  the  Linnaean  scale,  he  must  be  set  down 
thus :  Genus  Homo;  Species  Rotifer  infusorius,  — 
the  wheel-animal  of  infusions. 

The  Dudley  mansion  was  not  a  mile  from  the  Doc 
tor's;  but  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  think  of  walking 
to  see  any  of  his  patients'  families,  if  he  had  any  pro 
fessional  object  in  his  visit.  Whenever  the  narrow 
sulky  turned  in  at  a  gate,  the  rustic  who  was  digging 
potatoes,  or  hoeing  corn,  or  svrishing  through  the 
grass  with  his  scythe,  in  wave-like  crescents,  or  step 
ping  short  behind  a  loaded  wheelbarrow,  or  trudging 
lazily  by  the  side  of  the  swinging,  loose-throated, 
short-legged  oxen,  rocking  along  the  road  as  if  they 
had  just  been  landed  after  a  three-months'  voyage,  — 
the  toiling  native,  whatever  he  was  doing,  stopped  and 
looked  up  at  the  house  the  Doctor  was  visiting. 

"Somebody  sick  over  there  t'  Haynes's.     Guess  th' 


140  ELSIE    VENNER. 

old  man's  ailin'  ag'in.  Winder  's  haaf-way  open  in 
the  chamber,  —  should  11'  wonder  'f  he  was  dead  and 
laid  aout.  Docterin'  a'n't  no  use,  when  y'  see  th' 
winders  open  like  that.  Wahl,  money  a'n't  much  to 
speak  of  to  th'  old  man  naow!  He  don'  want  but 
tew  cents,  —  'n'  old  Widah  Peake,  she  knows  what 
he  wants  them  for!  " 

Or  again,  — 

"Measles  raound  pooty  thick.  Briggs's  folks  bur 
ied  two  children  with  'em  laas'  week.  Th'  ol'  Doctor, 
he  'd  h'  ker'd  'em  threugh.  Struck  in  'n'  p'dooced 
mo't'f 'cation,  — so  they  say." 

This  is  only  meant  as  a  sample  of  the  kind  of  way 
they  used  to  think  or  talk,  when  the  narrow  sulky 
turned  in  at  the  gate  of  some  house  where  there  was  a 
visit  to  be  made. 

Oh,  that  narrow  sulky!  What  hopes,  what  fears, 
what  comfort,  what  anguish,  what  despair,  in  the  roll 
of  its  coming  or  its  parting  wheels !  In  the  spring, 
when  the  old  people  get  the  coughs  which  give  them 
a  few  shakes  and  their  lives  drop  in  pieces  like  the 
ashes  of  a  burned  thread  which  have  kept  the  thread 
like  shape  until  they  were  stirred,  —  in  the  hot  sum 
mer  noons,  when  the  strong  man  comes  in  from  the 
fields,  like  the  son  of  the  Shunamite,  crying,  "My 
head,  my  head,"  —in  the  dying  autumn  days,  when 
youth  and  maiden  lie  fever-stricken  in  many  a  house 
hold,  still-faced,  dull-eyed,  dark-flushed,  dry-lipped, 
low-muttering  in  their  daylight  dreams,  their  fingers 
moving  singly  like  those  of  slumbering  harpers,  —  in 
the  dead  winter,  when  the  white  plague  of  the  North 
has  caged  its  wasted  victims,  shuddering  as  they 
think  of  the  frozen  soil  which  must  be  quarried 
like  rock  to  receive  them,  if  their  perpetual  conva- 


ELSIE  VENNER.  141 

iescence  should  happen  to  be  interfered  with  by  any 
untoward  accident,  —  at  every  season,  the  narrow 
sulky  rolled  round  freighted  with  unmeasured  burdens 
of  joy  and  woe. 

The  Doctor  drove  along  the  southern  foot  of  The 
Mountain.  The  "Dudley  Mansion"  was  near  the 
eastern  edge  of  this  declivity,  where  it  rose  steepest, 
with  baldest  cliffs  and  densest  patches  of  overhanging 
wood.  It  seemed  almost  too  steep  to  climb,  but  a 
practised  eye  could  see  from  a  distance  the  zigzag 
lines  of  the  sheep-paths  which  scaled  it  like  miniature 
Alpine  roads,  A  fev?  hundred  feet  up  The  Moun 
tain's  side  was  a  dark  deep  dell,  un wooded,  save  for  a 
few  spindling,  crazy-looking  hackmatacks  or  native 
larches,  with  pallid  green  tufts  sticking  out  fantasti 
cally  all  over  them.  It  shelved  so  deeply,  that,  while 
the  hemlock -tassels  were  swinging  on  the  trees  around 
its  border,  all  would  be  still  at  its  springy  bottom, 
save  that  perhaps  a  single  fern  would  wave  slowly 
backward  and  forward  like  a  sabre  with  a  twist  as  of 
a  feathered  oar,  —  and  this  when  not  a  breath  could 
be  felt,  and  every  other  stem  and  blade  were  motion 
less.  There  was  an  old  story  of  one  having  perished 
here  in  the  winter  of  '86,  and  his  body  having  been 
found  in  the  spring,  —  whence  its  common  name  of 
"Dead-Man's  Hollow."  Higher  up  there  were  huge 
cliffs  with  chasms,  and,  it  was  thought,  concealed 
caves,  where  in  old  times  they  said  that  Tories  lay  hid, 
• —  some  hinted  not  without  occasional  aid  and  comfort 
from  the  Dudleys  then  living  in  the  mansion-house. 
Still  higher  and  farther  west  lay  the  accursed  ledge, 
—  shunned  by  all,  unless  it  were  now  and  then  a 
daring  youth,  or  a  wandering  naturalist  who  ventured 
to  its  edge  in  the  hope  of  securing  some  infantile 


142  ELSIE   VENNEK. 

Crotalus  durissus,  who  had  not  yet  cut  his  poison- 
teeth. 

Long,  long  ago,  in  old  Colonial  times,  the  Honor 
able  Thomas  Dudley,  Esquire,  a  man  of  note  and 
name  and  great  resources,  allied  by  descent  to  the 
family  of  "Tom  Dudley,"  as  the  early  Governor  is 
sometimes  irreverently  called  by  our  most  venerable, 
but  still  youthful  antiquary,  —  and  to  the  other  public 
Dudleys,  of  course,  —  of  all  of  whom  he  made  small 
account,  as  being  himself  an  English  gentleman,  with 
little  taste  for  the  splendors  of  provincial  office,  — 
early  in  the  last  century,  Thomas  Dudley  had  built 
this  mansion.  For  several  generations  it  had  been 
dwelt  in  by  descendants  of  the  same  name,  but  soon 
after  the  Revolution  it  passed  by  marriage  into  the 
hands  of  the  Venners,  by  whom  it  had  ever  since  been 
held  and  tenanted. 

As  the  doctor  turned  an  angle  in  the  road,  all  at 
once  the  stately  old  house  rose  before  him.  It  was  a 
skilfully  managed  effect,  as  it  well  might  be,  for  it 
was  no  vulgar  English  architect  who  had  planned  the 
mansion  and  arranged  its  position  and  approach. 
The  old  house  rose  before  the  Doctor,  crowning  a  ter 
raced  garden,  flanked  at  the  left  by  an  avenue  of  tall 
elms.  The  flower-beds  were  edged  with  box,  which 
diffused  around  it  that  dreamy  balsamic  odor,  full  of 
ante-natal  reminiscences  of  a  lost  Paradise,  dimly  fra 
grant  as  might  be  the  bdellium  of  ancient  Havilah,  the 
land  compassed  by  the  river  Pison  that  went  out  of 
Eden.  The  garden  was  somewhat  neglected,  but  not 
in  disgrace,  —  and  in  the  time  of  tulips  and  hya 
cinths,  of  roses,  of  "snowballs,"  of  honeysuckles,  of 
lilacs,  of  syringas,  it  was  rich  with  blossoms. 

From   the  front-windows  of  the   mansion  the  eye 


ELSIE    VENNER.  143 

reached  a  far  blue  mountain-summit,  —  no  rounded 
heap,  such  as  often  shuts  in  a  village-landscape,  but 
a  sharp  peak,  clean-angled  as  Ascutney  from  the 
Dartmouth  green.  A  wide  gap  through  miles  of 
woods  had  opened  this  distant  view,  and  showed  more, 
perhaps,  than  all  the  labors  of  the  architect  and  the 
landscape-gardener  the  large  style  of  the  early  Dud 
leys. 

The  great  stone-chimney  of  the  mansion-house  was 
the  centre  from  which  all  the  artificial  features  of  the 
scene  appeared  to  flow.  The  roofs,  the  gables,  the 
dormer-windows,  the  porches,  the  clustered  offices  in 
the  rear,  all  seemed  to  crowd  about  the  great  chimney. 
To  this  central  pillar  the  paths  all  converged.  The 
single  poplar  behind  the  house,  —  Nature  is  jealous  of 
proud  chimneys,  and  always  loves  to  put  a  poplar 
near  one,  so  that  it  may  fling  a  leaf  or  two  down  its 
black  throat  every  autumn,  —  the  one  tall  poplar  be 
hind  the  house  seemed  to  nod  and  whisper  to  the  grave 
square  column,  the  elms  to  sway  their  branches  to 
wards  it.  And  when  the  blue  smoke  rose  from  its 
summit,  it  seemed  to  be  wafted  away  to  join  the 
azure  haze  which  hung  around  the  peak  in  the  far 
distance,  so  that  both  should  bathe  in  a  common  at 
mosphere. 

Behind  the  house  were  clumps  of  lilacs  wiiji  a 
century's  growth  upon  them,  and  looking  more  like 
trees  than  like  shrubs.  Shaded  by  a  group  of  these 
was  the  ancient  well,  of  huge  circuit,  and  with  a  low 
arch  opening  out  of  its  wall  about  ten  feet  below  the 
surface,  —  whether  the  door  of  a  crypt  for  the  con 
cealment  of  treasure,  or  of  a  subterranean  passage, 
or  merely  of  a  vault  for  keeping  provisions  cool  in 
hot  weather,  opinions  differed. 


144  ELSIE   VENNER. 

On  looking  at  the  house,  it  was  plain  that  it  was 
built  with  Old- World  notions  of  strength  and  durabil 
ity,  and,  so  far  as  might  be,  with  Old-World  materials. 
The  hinges  of  the  doors  stretched  out  like  arms,  in 
stead  of  like  hands,  as  we  make  them.  The  bolts 
were  massive  enough  for  a  donjon-keep.  The  small 
window-panes  were  actually  inclosed  in  the  wood  of 
the  sashes  instead  of  being  stuck  to  them  with  putty, 
as  in  our  modern  windows.  The  broad  staircase  was 
of  easy  ascent,  and  was  guarded  by  quaintly  turned 
and  twisted  balusters.  The  ceilings  of  the  two  rooms 
of  state  were  moulded  with  medallion-portraits  and 
rustic  figures,  such  as  may  have  been  seen  by  many 
readers  in  the  famous  old  Philipse  house,  —  Washing 
ton's  head-quarters,  —  in  the  town  of  Yonkers.  The 
fire-places,  worthy  of  the  wide-throated  central  chim 
ney,  were  bordered  by  pictured  tiles,  some  of  them 
with  Scripture  stories,  some  with  Watteau-like  figures^ 
—  tall  damsels  in  slim  waists  and  with  spread  enough 
of  skirt  for  a  modern  ballroom,  with  bowing,  re^lin- 
ing,  or  musical  swains  of  what  everybody  cdlis  the 
"  conventional "  sort, — that  is,  the  swain  adapted  to 
genteel  society  rather  than  to  a  literal  sheep-compel 
ling  existence. 

The  house  was  furnished,  soon  after  it  was  com- 
pleljed,  with  many  heavy  articles  made  in  London 
from  a  rare  wood  just  then  come  into  fashion,  not  so 
rare  now,  and  commonly  known  as  mahogany.  Time 
had  turned  it  very  dark,  and  the  stately  bedsteads 
and  tall  cabinets  and  claw-footed  chairs  and  tables 
were  in  keeping  with  the  sober  dignity  of  the  ancient 
mansion.  The  old  "hangings"  were  yet  preserved 
in  the  chambers,  faded,  but  still  showing  their  rich 
patterns, — properly  entitled  to  their  name,  for  they 


ELSIE   VENNER.  145 

were  literally  hung  upon  flat  wooden  frames  like  trel 
lis-work,  which  again  were  secured  to  the  naked  par 
titions. 

There  were  portraits  of  different  date  on  the  walls 
of  the  various  apartments,  old  painted  coats-of-arms, 
bevel-edged  mirrors,  and  in  one  sleeping-room  a  glass 
case  of  wax-work  flowers  and  spangly  symbols,  with 
a  legend  signifying  that  E.  M.  (supposed  to  be  Elizar 
beth  Mascarene)  wished  not  to  be  "forgot" 

**  When  I  am  dead  and  lay'd  in  dust 
And  all  my  bones  are  "  — 

Poor  E.  M.!  Poor  everybody  that  sighs  for  earthly 
remembrance  in  a  planet  with  a  core  of  fire  and  a 
crust  of  fossils! 

Such  was  the  Dudley  mansion-house,  —  for  it  kept 
its  ancient  name  in  spite  of  the  change  in  the  line  of 
descent.  Its  spacious  apartments  looked  dreary  and 
desolate;  for  here  Dudley  Tenner  and  his  daughter 
dwelt  by  themselves,  with  such  servants  only  as  their 
quiet  wode  of  life  required.  He  almost  lived  in  his 
library,  the  western  room  on  the  ground-floor.  Its 
window  looked  upon  a  small  plat  of  green,  in  the  midst 
of  which  was  a  single  grave  marked  by  a  plain  marble 
slab.  Except  this  room,  and  the  chamber  where  he 
slept,  and  the  servants'  wing,  the  rest  of  the  house 
was  all  Elsie's.  She  was  always  a  restless,  wandering 
child  from  her  early  years,  and  would  have  her  little 
bed  moved  from  one  chamber  to  another,  —  flitting 
round  as  the  fancy  took  her.  Sometimes  she  would 
drag  a  mat  and  a  pillow  into  one  of  the  great  empty 
rooms,  and,  wrapping  herself  in  a  shawl,  coil  up  and 
go  to  sleep  in  a  corner.  Nothing  frightened  her;  the 
" haunted"  chamber,  with  the  torn  hangings  that 


146  ELSIE   VENNEK. 

flapped  like  wings  when  there  was  air  stirring,  was 
one  of  her  favorite  retreats. 

She  had  been  a  very  hard  creature  to  manage. 
Her  father  could  influence,  but  not  govern  her.  Old 
Sophy,  born  of  a  slave  mother  in  the  house,  could 
do  more  with  her  than  anybody,  knowing  her  by  long 
instinctive  study.  The  other  servants  were  afraid  of 
her.  Her  father  had  sent  for  governesses,  but  none 
of  them  ever  stayed  long.  She  made  them  nervous ; 
one  of  them  had  a  strange  fit  of  sickness;  not  one  of 
them  ever  came  back  to  the  house  to  see  her.  A 
young  Spanish  woman  who  taught  her  dancing  suc 
ceeded  best  with  her,  for  she  had  a  passion  for  that 
exercise,  and  had  mastered  some  of  the  most  difficult 
dances. 

Long  before  this  period,  she  had  manifested  some 
most  extraordinary  singularities  of  taste  or  instinct. 
The  extreme  sensitiveness  of  her  father  on  this  point 
prevented  any  allusion  to  them;  but  there  were  sto 
ries  floating  round,  some  of  them  even  getting^nto 
the  papers,  —  without  her  name,  of  course,  —  which 
were  of  a  kind  to  excite  intense  curiosity,  if  not  more 
anxious  feelings.  This  thing  was  certain,  that  at  the 
age  of  twelve  she  was  missed  one  night,  and  was  found 
sleeping  in  the  open  air  under  a  tree,  like  a  wild  crea 
ture.  Very  often  she  would  wander  off  by  day,  always 
without  a  companion,  bringing  home  with  her  a  nest, 
a  flower,  or  even  a  more  questionable  trophy  of  her 
ramble,  such  as  showed  that  there  was  no  place  where 
she  was  afraid  to  venture.  Once  in  a  while  she  had 
stayed  out  over  night,  in  which  case  the  alarm  was 
spread,  and  men  went  in  search  of  her,  but  never  suc 
cessfully,  —  so  that  some  said  she  hid  herself  in  trees, 
and  others  that  she  had  found  one  of  the  old  Tory 
caves. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  147 

Some,  of  course,  said  she  was  a  crazy  girl,  and 
ought  to  be  sent  to  an  Asylum.  But  old  Dr.  Kit- 
tredge  had  shaken  his  head,  and  told  them  to  bear 
with  her,  and  let  her  have  her  way  as  much  as  they 
could,  but  watch  her,  as  far  as  possible,  without  mak 
ing  her  suspicious  of  them.  He  visited  her  now  and 
then,  under  the  pretext  of  seeing  her  father  on  busi 
ness,  or  of  only  making  a  friendly  call. 

The  Doctor  fastened  his  horse  outside  the  gate,  and 
walked  up  the  garden-alley.  He  stopped  suddenly 
with  a  start.  A  strange  sound  had  jarred  upon  his 
ear.  It  was  a  sharp  prolonged  rattle,  continuous,  but 
rising  and  falling  as  if  in  rhythmical  cadence.  He 
moved  softly  towards  the  open  window  from  which  the 
sound  seemed  to  proceed. 

Elsie  was  alone  in  the  room,  dancing  one  of  those 
wild  Moorish  fandangos,  such  as  a  matador  hot  from 
the  Plaza  de  Toros  of  Seville  or  Madrid  might  love 
to  lie  and  gaze  at.  She  was  a  figure  to  look  upon  in 
silence.  The  dancing  frenzy  must  have  seized  upon 
her  while  she  was  dressing ;  for  she  was  in  her  bodice, 
bare-armed,  her  hair  floating  unbound  far  below  the 
waist  of  her  barred  or  banded  skirt.  She  had  caught 
up  her 'castanets,  £iid  rattled  them  as  she  danced  with 
a  kind  of  passionate  fierceness,  her  lithe  body  undulat 
ing  with  flexuous  grace,  her  diamond  eyes  glittering, 
her  round  arms  wreathing  and  unwinding,  alive  and 
vibrant  to  the  tips  of  the  slender  fingers.  Some  pas 
sion  seemed  to  exhaust  itself  in  this  dancing  paroxysm; 
for  all  at  once  she  reeled  from  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
and  flung  herself,  as  it  were  in  a  careless  coil,  upon  a 
great  tiger 's-skin  which  was  spread  out  in  one  corner 
of  tthe  apartment. 


148  ELSIE  VENNER. 

The  old  Doctor  stood  motionless,  looking  at  her  as 
she  lay  panting  on  the  tawny,  black-lined  robe  of  the 
dead  monster  which  stretched  out  beneath  her,  its 
rude  flattened  outline  recalling  the  Terror  of  the  Jun 
gle  as  he  crouched  for  his  fatal  spring.  In  a  few  mo 
ments  her  head  drooped  upon  her  arm,  and  her  glit 
tering  eyes  closed,  —  she  was  sleeping.  He  stood 
looking  at  her  still,  steadily,  thoughtfully,  tenderly. 
Presently  he  lifted  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  as  if  re 
calling  some  fading  remembrance  of  other  years. 

"PoorCatalina!" 

This  was  all  he  said.  He  shook  his  head,  —  imply 
ing  that  his  visit  would  be  in  vain  to-day,  —  returned 
to  his  sulky,  and  rode  away,  as  if  in  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
COUSIN  RICHARD'S  VISIT. 

THE  Dock  -  r  ed  from  his  revery  by  the 

clatter  of  approae'ii.  >fs.  He  looked  forward  and 
saw  a  young  fellow  gallo]  ing  rapidly  towards  him. 

A  common  \ew-Eng.',  id  rider  with  his  toes  turned 
out,  his  elbows  jerking  and  the  daylight  showing 
under  him  at  every  step,  bestriding  a  cantering  beast 
of  the  plebeian  breed,  thick  at  every  point  where  he 
should  be  thin,  and  thin  at  every  point  where  he 
should  be  thick,  is  not  one  of  those  noble  objects  that 
bewitch  the  world.  The  best  horsemen  outside  of  the 
cities  are  the  unshod  country -boys,  who  ride  "bare 
back,"  with  only  a  halter  round  the  horse's  neck,  dig 
ging  their  brown  heels  into  his  ribs,  and  slanting  over 
backwards,  but  sticking  on  like  leeches,  and  taking 
the  hardest  trot  as  if  they  loved  it.  This  was  a  dif 
ferent  sight  on  which  the  Doctor  was  looking.  The 
streaming  mane  and  tail  of  the  unshorn,  savage-look 
ing,  black  horse,  the  dashing  grace  with  which  the 
young  fellow  in  the  shadowy  sombrero,  and  armed 
with  the  huge  spurs,  sat  in  his  high-peaked  saddle, 
could  belong  only  to  the  mustang  of  the  Pampas  and 
his  master.  This  bold  rider  was  a  young  man  whose 
sudden  apparition  in  the  quiet  inland  town  had  re 
minded  some  of  the  good  people  of  a  bright,  curly- 
haired  boy  they  had  known  some  eight  or  ten  years 
before  as  little  Dick  Venner. 


150  ELSIE   VE^    ,  KR. 

This  boy  had  passed  several  of  his  early  years  at 
the  Dudley  mansion,  the  playmate  of  Elsie,  being  her 
cousin,  two  or  three  years  older  than  lu  rself,  the  son 
of  Captain  Richard  Venner,  a  South  American  trader, 
who,  as  he  changed  his  residence  often,  was  glad  to 
leave  the  boy  in  his  brother's  charge.  The  Captain's 
wife,  this  boy's  mother,  was  a  lady  of  Buenos  Ayres, 
of  Spanish  descent,  and  had  died  while  the  child  was 
in  his  cradle.  These  two  motherless  children  were  as 
strange  a  pair  as  one  roof  could  well  cover.  Both 
handsome,  wild,  impetuous,  unmanageable,  they 
played  and  fought  together  like  two  young  leopards, 
beautiful,  but  dangerous,  their  lawless  instincts  show 
ing  through  all  their  graceful  movements. 

The  boy  was  little  else  than  a  young.  G 'audio  when 
he  first  came  to  Rockland;  for  he  had  learned  to  ride 
almost  as  soon  as  to  walk,  and  could  jump  on  his  pony 
and  trip  up  a  runaway  pig  with  the  bolas  or  noose  him 
with  his  miniature  lasso  at  an  age  when  some  city-chil 
dren  would  hardly  be  trusted  out  of  sight  of  a  nur 
sery-maid.  It  makes  men  imperious  to  sit  a  horse; 
no  man  governs  his  fellows  so  well  as  from  this  living 
throne.  And  so,  from  Marcus  Aurelius  in  Roman 
bronze,  down  to  the  "man  on  horseback"  in  General 
Gushing' s  prophetic  speech,  the  saddle  has  always 
been  the  true  seat  of  empire.  The  absolute  tyranny 
of  the  human  will  over  a  noble  and  powerful  beast  de= 
velops  the  instinct  of  personal  prevalence  and  domin= 
ion ;  so  that  horse-subduer  and  hero  were  almost  synon 
ymous  in  simpler  times,  and  are  closely  related  still. 
An  ancestry  of  wild  riders  naturally  enough  bequeaths 
also  those  other  tendencies  which  we  see  in  the  Tar 
tars,  the  Cossacks,  and  our  own  Indian  Centaurs,  — 
and  as  well,  perhaps,  in  the  old-fashioned  fox-hunting 


ELSIE   VENNER.  151 

squire  as  in  any  of  these.  Sharp  alternations  of  vio 
lent  action  and  self-indulgent  repose ;  a  hard  run,  and 
a  long  revel  after  it;  this  is  what  over-much  horse 
tends  to  animalize  a  man  into.  Such  antecedents  may 
have  helped  to  make  little  Dick  Venner  a  self-willed, 
capricious  boy,  and  a  rough  playmate  for  Elsie. 

Elsie  was  the  wilder  of  the  two.  Old  Sophy,  who 
used  to  watch  them  with  those  quick,  animal-looking 
eyes  of  hers,  —  she  was  said  to  be  the  granddaughter 
of  a  cannibal  chief,  and  inherited  the  keen  senses  be 
longing  to  all  creatures  which  are  hunted  as  game,  — 
Old  Sophy,  who  watched  them  in  their  play  and  their 
quarrels,  always  seemed  to  be  more  afraid  for  the  boy 
than  the  girl.  "Massa  Dick!  Massa  Dick!  don'  you 
be  too  rough  wi'  dat  gal !  She  scratch  you  las'  week, 
'n'  some  day  she  bite  you;  'n'  if  she  bite  you,  Massa 
Dick  !  "  Old  Sophy  nodded  her  head  ominously,  as  if 
she  could  say  a  great  deal  more;  while,  in  grateful 
acknowledgment  of  her  caution,  Master  Dick  put  his 
two  little  fingers  in  the  angles  of  his  mouth,  and  his 
forefingers  on  his  lower  eyelids,  drawing  upon  these 
features  until  his  expression  reminded  her  of  some 
thing  she  vaguely  recollected  in  her  infancy,  —  the 
face  of  a  favorite  deity  executed  in  wood  by  an  Afri 
can  artist  for  her  grandfather,  brought  over  by  her 
mother,  and  burned  when  she  became  a  Christian. 

These  two  wild  children  had  much  in  common. 
They  loved  to  ramble  together,  to  build  huts,  to  climb 
trees  for  nests,  to  ride  the  colts,  to  dance,  to  race,  and 
to  play  at  boys'  rude  games  as  if  both  were  boys.  But 
wherever  two  natures  have  a  great  deal  in  common, 
the  conditions  of  a  first-rate  quarrel  are  furnished 
ready-made.  Relations  are  very  apt  to  hate  each 
other  just  because  they  are  too  much  alike.  It  is  so 


152  ELSIE   VENNER. 


frig 


rightful  to  be  in  an  atmosphere  of  family  idiosyncra 
sies;  to  see  all  the  hereditary  uncomeliness  or  infirm 
ity  of  body,  all  the  defects  of  speech,  all  the  failings 
of  temper,  intensified  by  concentration,  so  that  every 
fault  of  our  own  finds  itself  multiplied  by  reflections, 
like  our  images  in  a  saloon  lined  with  mirrors !  Na 
ture  knows  what  she  is  about.  The  centrifugal  prin- 
I  ciple  which  grows  out  of  the  antipathy  of  like  to  like 
I  is  only  the  repetition  in  character  of  the  arrangement 
we  see  expressed  materially  in  certain  seed-capsules, 
which  burst  and  throw  the  seed  to  all  points  of  the 
compass.  A  house  is  a  large  pod  with  a  human  germ 
or  two  in  each  of  its  cells  or  chambers;  it  opens  by 
dehiscence  of  the  front-door  by  and  by,  and  projects 
one  of  its  germs  to  Kansas,  another  to  San  Francisco, 
another  to  Chicago,  and  so  on;  and  this  that  Smith 
may  not  be  Smithed  to  death  and  Brown  may  not  be 
Browned  into  a  mad-house,  but  mix  in  with  the  world 
again  and  struggle  back  to  average  humanity. 

Elsie's  father,  whose  fault  was  to  indulge  her  in 
everything,  found  that  it  would  never  do  to  let  these 
children  grow  up  together.  They  would  either  love 
each  other  as  they  got  older,  and  pair  like  wild  crea 
tures,  or  take  some  fierce  antipathy,  which  might  end 
nobody  could  tell  where.  It  was  not  safe  to  try.  The 
boy  must  be  sent  away.  A  sharper  quarrel  than 
common  decided  this  point.  Master  Dick  forgot  Old 
Sophy's  caution,  and  vexed  the  girl  into  a  paroxysm 
of  wrath,  in  which  she  sprang  at  him  and  bit  his  arm. 
Perhaps  they  made  too  much  of  it;  for  they  sent  for 
the  old  Doctor,  who  came  at  once  when  he  heard  what 
had  happened.  He  had  a  good  deal  to  say  about  the 
danger  there  was  from  the  teeth  of  animals  or  human 
beings  when  enraged;  and  as  he  emphasized  his  re- 


ELSIE  VENNER.  153 

marks  by  the  application  of  a  pencil  of  lunar  caustic 
to  each  of  the  marks  left  by  the  sharp  white  teeth, 
they  were  like  to  be  remembered  by  at  least  one  of  his 
hearers. 

So  Master  Dick  went  off  on  his  travels,  which  led 
him  into  strange  places  and  stranger  company.  Elsie 
was  half  pleased  and  half  sorry  to  have  him  go ;  the 
children  had  a  kind  of  mingled  liking  and  hate  for 
each  other,  just  such  as  is  very  common  among  rela 
tions.  Whether  the  girl  had  most  satisfaction  in  the 
plays  they  shared,  or  in  teasing  him,  or  taking  her 
small  revenge  upon  him  for  teasing  her,  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  say.  At  any  rate,  she  was  lonely 
without  him.  She  had  more  fondness  for  the  old 
black  woman  than  anybody ;  but  Sophy  could  not  fol 
low  her  far  beyond  her  own  old  rocking-chair.  As 
for  her  father,  she  had  made  him  afraid  of  her,  not 
for  his  sake,  but  for  her  own.  Sometimes  she  would 
seem  to  be  fond  of  him,  and  the  parent's  heart  would 
yearn  within  him  as  she  twined  her  supple  arms  about 
him;  and  then  some  look  she  gave  him,  some  half- 
articulated  expression,  would  turn  his  cheek  pale  and 
almost  make  him  shiver,  and  he  would  say  kindly, 
"Now  go,  Elsie,  dear,"  and  smile  upon  her  as  she 
went,  and  close  and  lock  the  door  softly  after  her. 
Then  his  forehead  would  knot  and  furrow  itself,  and 
the  drops  of  anguish  stand  thick  upon  it.  He  would 
go  to  the  western  window  of  his  study  and  look  at  the 
solitary  mound  with  the  marble  slab  for  its  head-stone. 
After  his  grief  had  had  its  way,  he  would  kneel  down 
and  pray  for  his  child  as  one  who  has  no  hope  save  in 
that  special  grace  which  can  bring  the  most  rebellious 
spirit  into  sweet  subjection.  All  this  might  seem  like 
weakness  in  a  parent  having  the  charge  of  one  sole 


154  ELSIE   VENNER. 

daughter  of  his  house  and  heart ;  but  he  had  tried  au- 

o  * 

thority  and  tenderness  by  turns  so  long  without  any 
good  effect,  that  he  had  become  sore  perplexed,  and, 
surrounding  her  with  cautious  watchfulness  as  he  best 
might,  left  her  in  the  main  to  her  own  guidance  and 
the  merciful  influences  which  Heaven  might  send 
down  to  direct  her  footsteps. 

Meantime  the  boy  grew  up  to  youth  and  early  man 
hood  through  a  strange  succession  of  adventures.  He 
had  been  at  school  at  Buenos  Ayres,  —  had  quarrelled 
with  his  mother's  relatives,  — had  run  off  to  the  Pam 
pas,  and  lived  with  the  Gauchos,  — had  made  friends 
with  the  Indians,  and  ridden  with  them,  it  was  ru 
mored,  in  some  of  their  savage  forays,  —  had  returned 
and  made  up  his  quarrel,  —  had  got  money  by  inher 
itance  or  otherwise,  —  had  troubled  the  peace  of  cer 
tain  magistrates,  —  had  found  it  convenient  to  leave 
the  City  of  Wholesome  Breezes  for  a  time,  and  had 
galloped  off  on  a  fast  horse  of  his,  (so  it  was  said,) 
with  some  officers  riding  after  him,  who  took  good 
care  (but  this  was  only  the  popular  story)  not  to  catch 
him.  A  few  days  after  this  he  was  taking  his  ice  on 
the  Alameda  of  Mendoza,  and  a  week  or  two  later 
sailed  from  Valparaiso  for  New  York,  carrying  with 
him  the  horse  with  which  he  had  scampered  over  the 
Plains,  a  trunk  or  two  with  his  newly  purchased  out 
fit  of  clothing  and  other  conveniences,  and  a  belt 
heavy  with  gold  and  with  a  few  Brazilian  diamonds 
sewed  in  it,  enough  in  value  to  serve  him  for  a  long 
journey. 

Dick  Venner  had  seen  life  enough  to  wear  out  the 
earlier  sensibilities  of  adolescence.  He  was  tired  of 
worshipping  or  tyrannizing  over  the  bistred  or  um 
bered  beauties  of  mingled  blood  among  whom  he  had 


ELSIE   VENNER.  155 

been  living.  Even  that  piquant  exhibition  which  the 
Rio  de  Mendoza  presents  to  the  amateur  of  breathing 
sculpture  failed  to  interest  him.  He  was  thinking  of 
a  far-off  village  on  the  other  side  of  the  equator,  and 
of  the  wild  girl  with  whom  he  used  to  play  and  quar 
rel,  a  creature  o^  a  different  race  from  these  degen 
erate  mongrels. 

"A  game  little  devil  she  was,  sure  enough !  "  —  And 
as  Dick  spoke,  he  bared  his  wrist  to  look  for  the  marks 
she  had  left  on  it :  two  small  white  scars,  where  the 
two  small  sharp  upper  teeth  had  struck  when  she 
flashed  at  him  with  her  eyes  sparkling  as  bright  as 
those  glittering  stones  sewed  up  in  the  belt  he  wore.  — 
"That 's  a  filly  worth  noosing  !  "  said  Dick  to  himself, 
as  he  looked  in  admiration  at  the  sign  of  her  spirit 
and  passion.  "  I  wonder  if  she  will  bite  at  eighteen 
as  she  did  at  eight !  She  shall  have  a  chance  to  try, 
at  any  rate !  " 

Such  was  the  self-sacrificing  disposition  with  which 
Richard  Venner,  Esq.,  a  passenger  by  the  Condor 
from  Valparaiso,  set  foot  upon  his  native  shore,  and 
turned  his  face  in  the  direction  of  Rockland,  The 
Mountain,  and  the  mansion-house.  He  had  heard 
something^,  from  time  to  time,  of  his  New-England 
relatives,  and  knew  that  they  were  living  together 
as  he  left  them.  And  so  he  heralded  himself  to 
"My  dear  Uncle"  by  a  letter  signed  "Your  loving 
nephew,  Richard  Venner,"  in  which  letter  he  told  a 
very  frank  story  of  travel  and  mercantile  adventure, 
expressed  much  gratitude  for  the  excellent  counsel  and 
example  which  had  helped  to  form  his  character  and 
preserve  him  in  the  midst  of  temptation,  inquired 
affectionately  after  his  uncle's  health,  was  much  in 
terested  to  know  whether  his  lively  cousin  who  used  to 


156  ELSIE   VENNER. 

be  his  playmate  had  grown  up  as  handsome  as  she 
promised  to  be,  and  announced  his  intention  of  pay 
ing  his  respects  to  them  both  at  Rockland.  Not  long 
after  this  came  the  trunks  marked  R.  V.  which  he 
had  sent  before  him,  forerunners  of  his  advent:  he 
was  not  going  to  wait  for  a  reply  or  an  invitation. 

What  a  sound  that  is,  —  the  banging  down  of  the 
preliminary  trunk,  without  its  claimant  to  give  it  the 
life  which  is  borrowed  by  all  personal  appendages,  so 
long  as  the  owner's  hand  or  eye  is  on  them!  If  it 
announce  the  coming  of  one  loved  and  longed  for,  how 
we  delight  to  look  at  it,  to  sit  down  on  it,  to  caress  it 
in  our  fancies,  as  a  lone  exile  walking  out  on  a  windy 
pier  yearns  towards  the  merchantman  lying  alongside, 
with  the  colors  of  his  own  native  land  at  her  peak, 
and  the  name  of  the  port  he  sailed  from  long  ago  upon 
her  stern!  But  if  it  tell  the  near  approach  of  the 
undesired,  inevitable  guest,  what  sound  short  of  the 
muffled  noises  made  by  the  undertakers  as  they  turn 
the  corners  in  the  dim-lighted  house,  with  low  shuffle 
of  feet  and  whispered  cautions,  carries  such  a  sense  of 
knocking-kneed  collapse  with  it  as  the  thumping  down 
in  the  front  entry  of  the  heavy  portmanteau,  rammed 
with  the  changes  of  uncounted  coming  weeks? 

Whether  the  R.  V.  portmanteaus  brought  one  or 
the  other  of  these  emotions  to  the  tenants  of  the  Dud 
ley  mansion,  it  might  not  be  easy  to  settle.  Elsie 
professed  to  be  pleased  with  the  thought  of  having  an 
adventurous  young  stranger,  with  stories  to  tell,  an 
inmate  of  their  quiet,  not  to  say  dull,  family.  Under 
almost  any  other  circumstances,  her  father  would  have 
been  unwilling  to  take  a  young  fellow  of  whom  he 
knew  so  little  under  his  roof ;  but  this  was  his  nephew, 
and  anything  that  seemed  like  to  amuse  or  please 


ELSIE   VENNER.  157 

Elsie  was  agreeable  to  him.  He  had  grown  almost 
desperate,  and  felt  as  if  any  change  in  the  current  of 
her  life  and  feelings  might  save  her  from  some  strange 
paroxysm  of  dangerous  mental  exaltation  or  sullen 
perversion  of  disposition,  from  which  some  fearful 
calamity  might  come  to  herself  or  others. 

Dick  had  been  several  weeks  at  the  Dudley  mansion, 
A  few  days  before,  he  had  made  a  sudden  dash  for 
the  nearest  large  city,  —  and  when  the  Doctor  met 
him,  he  was  just  returning  from  his  visit. 

It  had  been  a  curious  meeting  between  the  two 
young  persons,  who  had  parted  so  young  and  after 
such  strange  relations  with  each  other.  When  Dick 
first  presented  himself  at  the  mansion,  not  one  in  the 
house  would  have  known  him  for  the  boy  who  had 
left  them  all  so  suddenly  years  ago.  He  was  so  dark, 
partly  from  his  descent,  partly  from  long  habits  of  ex 
posure,  that  Elsie  looked  almost  fair  beside  him.  He 
had  something  of  the  family  beauty  which  belonged  to 
his  cousin,  but  his  eye  had  a  fierce  passion  in  it,  very 
unlike  the  cold  glitter  of  Elsie's.  Like  many  people 
of  strong  and  imperious  temper,  he  was  soft-voiced  and 
very  gentle  in  his  address,  when  he  had  no  special 
reason  for  being  otherwise.  He  soon  found  reasons 
enough  to  be  as  amiable  as  he  could  force  himself  to 
be  with  his  uncle  and  his  cousin.  Elsie  was  to  his 
fancy.  She  had  a  strange  attraction  for  him,  quite 
unlike  anything  he  had  ever  known  in  other  women. 
There  was  something,  too,  in  early  associations :  when 
those  who  parted  as  children  meet  as  man  and  woman, 
there  is  always  a  renewal  of  that  early  experience 
which  followed  the  taste  of  the  forbidden  fruit,  —  a 
natural  blush  of  consciousness,  not  without  its  charm. 


158 

Nothing  could  be  more  becoming  than  the  behavior 
of  "Richard  Venner,  Esquire,  the  guest  of  Dudley 
Venner,  Esquire,  at  his  noble  mansion,"  as  he  was 
announced  in  the  Court  column  of  the  "Rockland 
Weekly  Universe."  He  was  pleased  to  find  himself 
treated  with  kindness  and  attention  as  a  relative.  He 
made  himself  very  agreeable  by  abundant  details  con 
cerning  the  religious,  political,  social,  commercial,  and 
educational  progress  of  the  South  American  cities  and 
states.  He  was  himself  much  interested  in  every 
thing  that  was  going  on  about  the  Dudley  mansion, 
walked  all  over  it,  noticed  its  valuable  wood-lots  with 
special  approbation,  was  delighted  with  the  grand  old 
house  and  its  furniture,  and  would  not  be  easy  until 
he  had  seen  all  the  family  silver  and  heard  its  history. 
In  return,  he  had  much  to  tell  of  his  father,  now  dead, 
—  the  only  one  of  the  Venners,  beside  themselves,  in 
whose  fate  his  uncle  was  interested.  With  Elsie,  he 

was  subdued  and  almost  tender  in  his  manner;  with 

. 

the  few  visitors  whom  they  saw,  shy  and  silent,  —  per 
haps  a  little  watchful,  if  any  young  man  happened  to 
be  among  them. 

Young  fellows  placed  on  their  good  behavior  are  apt 
to  get  restless  and  nervous,  all  ready  to  fly  off  into 
some  mischief  or  other.  Dick  Venner  had  his  half- 
tamed  horse  with  him  to  work  off  his  suppressed  life 
with.  When  the  savage  passion  of  his  young  blood 
came  over  him,  he  would  fetch  out  the  mustang,  scream 
ing  and  kicking  as  these  amiable  beasts  are  wont  to 
do,  strap  the  Spanish  saddle  tight  to  his  back,  vault 
into  it,  and,  after  getting  away  from  the  village,  strike 
the  long  spurs  into  his  sides  and  whirl  away  in  a  wild 
gallop,  until  the  black  horse  was  flecked  with  white 
foam,  and  the  cruel  steel  points  were  red  with  his 


ELSIE   VENDER.  159 

blood.  When  horse  and  rider  were  alike  tired,  he 
i  would  fling  the  bridle  on  his  neck  and  saunter  home 
ward,  always  contriving  to  get  to  the  stable  in  a  quiet 
way,  and  coming  into  the  house  as  calm  as  a  bishop 
after  a  sober  trot  on  his  steady-going  cob. 

After  a  few  weeks  of  this  kind  of  life,  he  began  to 
want  some  more  fierce  excitement.  He  had  tried 
making  downright  love  to  Elsie,  with  no  great  suc 
cess  as  yet,  in  his  own  opinion.  The  girl  was  capri 
cious  in  her  treatment  of  him,  sometimes  scowling 
and  repellent,  sometimes  familiar,  very  often,  as  she 
used  to  be  of  old,  teasing  and  malicious.  All  this, 
perhaps,  made  her  more  interesting  to  a  young  man 
who  was  tired  of  easy  conquests.  There  was  a  strange 
fascination  in  her  eyes,  too,  which  at  times  was  quite 
irresistible,  so  that  he  would  feel  himself  drawn  to  her 
by  a  power  which  seemed  to  take  away  his  will  for  the 
moment.  It  may  have  been  nothing  but  the  common 
charm  of  bright  eyes ;  but  he  had  never  before  expe 
rienced  the  same  kind  of  attraction. 

Perhaps  she  was  not  so  very  different  from  what  she 
had  been  as  a  child,  after  all.  At  any  rate,  so  it 
seemed  to  Dick  Venner,  who,  as  was  said  before,  had 
tried  making  love  to  her.  They  were  sitting  alone  in 
the  study  one  day;  Elsie  had  round  her  neck  that 
somewhat  peculiar  ornament,  the  golden  torque,  which 
she  had  worn  to  the  great  party.  Youth  is  adventur 
ous  and  very  curious  about  necklaces,  brooches, 
chains,  and  other  such  adornments,  so  long  as  they 
are  worn  by  young  persons  of  the  female  sex.  Dick 
was  seized  with  a  great  passion  for  examining  this 
curious  chain,  and,  after  some  preliminary  questions, 
was  rash  enough  to  lean  towards  her  and  put  out  his 
hand  toward  the  neck  that  lay  in  the  golden  coil. 


160  ELSIE  VENNER. 

She  threw  her  head  back,  her  eyes  narrowing  and  her 
forehead  drawing  down  so  that  Dick  thought  her  head 
actually  flattened  itself.  He  started  involuntarily; 
for  she  looked  so  like  the  little  girl  who  had  struck 
him  with  those  sharp  flashing  teeth,  that  the  whole 
scene  came  back,  and  he  felt  the  stroke  again  as  if  it 
had  just  been  given,  and  the  two  white  scars  began  to 
sting  as  they  did  after  the  old  Doctor  had  burned 
them  with  that  stick  of  gray  caustic,  which  looked  so 
like  a  slate  pencil,  and  felt  so  much  like  the  end  of  a 
red-hot  poker. 

It  took  something  more  than  a  gallop  to  set  him 
right  after  this.  The  next  day  he  mentioned  having 
received  a  letter  from  a  mercantile  agent  with  whom 
he  had  dealings.  What  his  business  was  is,  perhaps, 
none  of  our  business.  At  any  rate,  it  required  him  to 
go  at  once  to  the  city  where  his  correspondent  resided. 

Independently  of  this  "business"  which  called  him, 
there  may  have  been  other  motives,  such  as  have  been 
hinted  at.  People  who  have  been  living  for  a  long 
time  in  dreary  country-places,  without  any  emotion 
beyond  such  as  are  occasioned  by  a  trivial  pleasure  or 
annoyance,  often  get  crazy  at  last  for  a  vital  paroxysm 
of  some  kind  or  other.  In  this  state  they  rush  to  the 
great  cities  for  a  plunge  into  their  turbid  life-baths, 
with  a  frantic  thirst  for  every  exciting  pleasure,  which 
makes  them  the  willing  and  easy  victims  of  all  those 
who  sell  the  Devil's  wares  on  commission.  The  less 
intelligent  and  instructed  class  of  unfortunates,  who 
venture  with  their  ignorance  and  their  instincts  into 
what  is  sometimes  called  the  "life  "  of  great  cities,  are 
put  through  a  rapid  course  of  instruction  which  enti 
tles  them  very  commonly  to  a  diploma  from  the  police 
court.  But  they  only  illustrate  the  working  of  the 


ELSIE   VENNER.  161 

same  tendency  in  mankind  at  large  which  has  been 
occasionally  noticed  in  the  sons  of  ministers  and  other 
eminently  worthy  people,  by  many  ascribed  to  that 
intense  congenital  hatred  for  goodness  which  distin 
guishes  human  nature  from  that  of  the  brute,  but 
perhaps  as  readily  accounted  for  by  considering  it  as 
the  yawning  and  stretching  of  a  young  soul  cramped 
too  long  in  one  moral  posture. 

Richard  Venner  was  a  young  man  of  remarkable 
experience  for  his  years.  He  ran  less  risk,  therefore, 

i  in  exposing  himself  to  the  temptations  and  dangers 
of  a  great  city  than  many  older  men,  who,  seeking 

'  the  livelier  scenes  of  excitement  to  be  found  in  large 
towns  as  a  relaxation  after  the  monotonous  routine  of 
family  life,  are  too  often  taken  advantage  of  and  made 
the  victims  of  their  sentiments  or  their  generous  con- 

I  fidence  in  their  fellow-creatures.  Such  was  not  his 
destiny.  There  was  something  about  him  which 
looked  as  if  he  would  not  take  bullying  kindly.  He 
had  also  the  advantage  of  being  acquainted  with  most 
of  those  ingenious  devices  by  which  the  proverbial  in 
constancy  of  fortune  is  steadied  to  something  more 
nearly  approaching  fixed  laws,  and  the  dangerous  risks 
which  have  so  often  led  young  men  to  ruin  and  suicide 
are  practically  reduced  to  somewhat  less  than  no 
thing.  So  that  Mr.  Richard  Venner  worked  off  his 
nervous  energies  without  any  troublesome  adventure, 
and  was  ready  to  return  to  Rockland  in  less  than  a 
week,  without  having  lightened  the  money-belt  he 
wore  round  his  body,  or  tarnished  the  long  glittering 
knife  he  carried  in  his  boot. 

Dick  had  sent  his  trunk  to  the  nearest  town  through 
which  the  railroad  leading  to  the  city  passed.  He 
rode  off  on  his  black  horse  and  left  him  at  the  place 


162  ELSIE   VENNER. 

where  he  took  the  cars.  On  arriving  at  the  city  sta 
tion,  he  took  a  coach  and  drove  to  one  of  the  great 
hotels.  Thither  drove  also  a  sagacious-looking,  mid 
dle-aged  man,  who  entered  his  name  as  "W.  Thomp 
son  "in  the  book  at  the  office  immediately  after  that 
of  "R.  Venner."  Mr.  "Thompson "kept a  carelessly 
observant  eye  upon  Mr.  Venner  during  his  stay  at 
the  hotel,  and  followed  him  to  the  cars  when  he  left, 
looking  over  his  shoulder  when  he  bought  his  ticket  at 
the  station,  and  seeing  him  fairly  off  without  obtrud 
ing  himself  in  any  offensive  way  upon  his  attention. 
Mr.  Thompson,  known  in  other  quarters  as  Detective 
Policeman  Terry,  got  very  little  by  his  trouble. 
Richard  Venner  did  not  turn  out  to  be  the  wife-poi 
soner,  the  defaulting  cashier,  the  river-pirate,  or  the 
great  counterfeiter.  He  paid  his  hotel-bill  as  a  gen 
tleman  should  always  do,  if  he  has  the  money  and  can 
spare  it.  The  detective  had  probably  overrated  his 
own  sagacity  when  he  ventured  to  suspect  Mr.  Ven 
ner.  He  reported  to  his  chief  that  there  was  a  know 
ing-looking  fellow  he  had  been  round  after,  but  he 
rather  guessed  he  was  nothing  more  than  "one  o' 
them  Southern  sportsmen." 

The  poor  fellows  at  the  stable  where  Dick  had  left1 
his  horse  had  had  trouble  enough  with  him.  One  of 
the  ostlers  was  limping  about  with  a  lame  leg,  and 
another  had  lost  a  mouthful  of  his  coat,  which  came 
very  near  carrying  a  piece  of  his  shoulder  with  it. 
When  Mr.  Venner  came  back  for  his  beast,  he  was  as 
wild  as  if  he  had  just  been  lassoed,  screaming,  kicking, 
rolling  over  to  get  rid  of  his  saddle,  —  and  when  his 
rider  was  at  last  mounted,  jumping  about  in  a  way  to 
dislodge  any  common  horseman.  To  all  this  Dick  re 
plied  by  sticking  his  long  spurs  deeper  and  deeper  into 


£»3U.  .—  — v.  163 

his  flanks,  until  the  creature  found  he  was  mastered, 
and  dashed  off  as  if  all  the  thistles  of  the  Pampas 
were  pricking  him. 

"One  more  gallop,  Juan!"  This  was  in  the  last 
mile  of  the  road  before  he  came  to  the  town  which 
brought  him  in  sight  of  the  mansion-house.  It  was 
in  this  last  gallop  that  the  fiery  mustang  and  his  rider 
flashed  by  the  old  Doctor.  Cassia  pointed  her  sharp 
ears  and  shied  to  let  them  pass.  The  Doctor  turned 
and  looked  through  the  little  round  glass  in  the  back 
of  his  sulky. 

"Dick  Turpin,  there,  will  find  more  than  his 
match!  "  said  the  Doctor. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   APOLLINEAN   INSTITUTE. 
( With  Extracts  from  the  "  Report  of  the  Committee." ) 

THE  readers  of  this  narrative  will  hardly  expect  any 
elaborate  details  of  the  educational  management  of 
the  Apollinean  Institute.  They  cannot  be  supposed 
to  take  the  same  interest  in  its  affairs  as  was  shown 
by  the  Annual  Committees  who  reported  upon  its 
condition  and  prospects.  As  these  Committees  were, 
however,  an  important  part  of  the  mechanism  of  the 
establishment,  some  general  account  of  their  organi 
zation  and  a  few  extracts  from  the  Report  of  the  one 
last  appointed  may  not  be  out  of  place. 

Whether  Mr.  Silas  Peckham  had  some  contrivance 
for  packing  his  Committees,  whether  they  happened 
always  to  be  made  up  of  optimists  by  nature,  whether 
they  were  cajoled  into  good-humor  by  polite  atten 
tions,  or  whether  they  were  always  really  delighted 
with  the  wonderful  acquirements  of  the  pupils  and  the 
admirable  order  of  the  school,  it  is  certain  that  their 
Annual  Reports  were  couched  in  language  which 
might  warm  the  heart  of  the  most  cold-blooded  and 
calculating  father  that  ever  had  a  family  of  daughters 
to  educate.  In  fact,  these  Annual  Reports  were  con 
sidered  by  Mr.  Peckham  as  his  most  effective  adver 
tisements. 

The  first  thing,  therefore,  was  to  see  that  the  Com 
mittee  was  made  up  of  persons  known  to  the  public. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  165 

Some  worn-out  politician,  in  that  leisurely  and  ami 
able  transition-state  which  comes  between  official  ex 
tinction  and  the  paralysis  which  will  finish  him  as 
soon  as  his  brain  gets  a  little  softer,  made  an  admi 
rable  Chairman  for  Mr.  Peckham,  when  he  had  the 
luck  to  pick  up  such  an  article.  Old  reputations, 
like  old  fashions,  are  more  prized  in  the  grassy  than 
in  the  stony  districts.  An  effete  celebrity,  who  would 
never  be  heard  of  again  in  the  great  places  until  the 
funeral  sermon  waked  up  his  memory  for  one  parting 
spasm,  finds  himself  in  full  flavor  of  renown  a  little 
farther  back  from  the  changing  winds  of  the  sea-coast. 
If  such  a  public  character  was  not  to  be  had,  so  that 
there  was  no  chance  of  heading  the  Report  with  the 
name  of  the  Honorable  Mr.  Somebody,  the  next  best 
thing  was  to  get  the  Reverend  Dr.  Somebody  to  take 
that  conspicuous  position.  Then  would  follow  two  or 
three  local  worthies  with  Esquire  after  their  names. 
If  any  stray  literary  personage  from  one  of  the  great 
cities  happened  to  be  within  reach,  he  was  pounced 
upon  by  Mr.  Silas  Peckham.  It  was  a  hard  case  for 
the  poor  man,  who  had  travelled  a  hundred  miles  or 
two  to  the  outside  suburbs  after  peace  and  unwatered 
milk,  to  be  pumped  for  a  speech  in  this  unexpected 
way.  It  was  harder  still,  if  he  had  been  induced  to 
venture  a  few  tremulous  remarks,  to  be  obliged  to 
write  them  out  for  the  "Rockland  Weekly  Universe," 
with  the  chance  of  seeing  them  used  as  an  advertising 
certificate  as  long  as  he  lived,  if  he  lived  as  long  as 
the  late  Dr.  Waterhouse  did  after  giving  his  certifi 
cate  in  favor  of  Whit  well's  celebrated  Cephalic 
Snuff. 

The  Report  of  the  last  Committee  had  been  signed 
by  the  Honorable  —       — ,  late  —        -  of  -        — ,   as 


166  ELSIE    VENNER. 

Chairman.  (It  is  with  reluctance  that  the  name  and 
titles  are  left  in  blank ;  but  our  public  characters  are 
so  familiarly  known  to  the  whole  community  that  this 
reserve  becomes  necessary.)  The  other  members  of 
the  Committee  were  the  Reverend  Mr.  Butters,  of  a 
neighboring  town,  who  was  to  make  the  prayer  before 
the  Exercises  of  the  Exhibition,  and  two  or  three  no 
tabilities  of  Rockland,  with  geoponic  eyes,  and  gla 
brous,  bumpless  foreheads.  A  few  extracts  from  the 
Report  are  subjoined:  — 

"The  Committee  have  great  pleasure  in  recording 
their  unanimous  opinion,  that  the  Institution  was 
never  in  so  flourishing  a  condition.  .  .  . 

"The  health  of  the  pupils  is  excellent;  the  admi 
rable  quality  of  food  supplied  shows  itself  in  their 
appearance;  their  blooming  aspect  excited  the  admi 
ration  of  the  Committee,  and  bears  testimony  to  the 
assiduity  of  the  excellent  Matron. 

" moral  and  religious  condition  most  en 
couraging,  which  they  cannot  but  attribute  to  the  per 
sonal  efforts  and  instruction  of  the  faithful  Principal, 
who  considers  religious  instruction  a  solemn  duty 
which  he  cannot  commit  to  other  people. 

" great    progress     in    their    studies, 

under  the  intelligent  superintendence  of  the  accom 
plished  Principal,  assisted  by  Mr.  Badger,  [Mr. 
Langdon's  predecessor,]  Miss  Darley,  the  lady  who 
superintends  the  English  branches,  Miss  Crabs,  her 
assistant  and  teacher  of  Modern  Languages,  and  Mr» 
Schneider,  teacher  of  French,  German,  Latin,  and 
Music.  .  .  . 

"Education  is  the  great  business  of  the  Institute. 
Amusements  are  objects  of  a  secondary  nature;  but 
Jbhese  are  by  no  means  neglected.  .  .  . 


ELSIE   VENNER.  167 

" English  compositions  of  great 

originality  and  beauty,  creditable  alike  to  the  head 
and  heart  of  their  accomplished  authors sev 
eral  poems  of  a  very  high  order  of  merit,  which  would 

do  honor  to  the  literature  of  any  age  or  country 

life-like  drawings,  showing  great  proficiency.  .  .  . 
Many  converse  fluently  in  various  modern  languages. 

perform  the  most  difficult  airs  with  the  skill 

of  professional  musicians.  .  .  . 

" advantages  unsurpassed,  if  equalled  by 

those  of  any  Institution  in  the  country, -and  reflecting 
the  highest  honor  on  the  distinguished  Head  of  the 
Establishment,  SILAS  PECKHAM,  Esquire,  and  his 
admirable  Lady,  the  MATRON,  with  their  worthy  as 
sistants.  ..." 

The  perusal  of  this  Report  did  Mr.  Bernard  more 
good  than  a  week's  vacation  would  have  done.  It 
gave  him  such  a  laugh  as  he  had  not  had  for  a  month. 
The  way  in  which  Silas  Peckham  had  made  his  Com 
mittee  say  what  he  wanted  them  to  —  for  he  recognized 
a  number  of  expressions  in  the  Report  as  coming  di 
rectly  from  the  lips  of  his  principal,  and  could  not 
help  thinking  how  cleverly  he  had  forced  his  phrases, 
as  jugglers  do  the  particular  card  they  wish  their  dupe 
to  take  —  struck  him  as  particularly  neat  and  pleasing. 

He  had  passed  through  the  sympathetic  and  emo 
tional  stages  in  his  new  experience,  and  had  arrived 
at  the  philosophical  and  practical  state,  which  takes 
things  coolly,  and  goes  to  work  to  set  them  right. 
He  had  breadth  enough  of  view  to  see  that  there  was 
nothing  so  very  exceptional  in  this  educational  trad 
er's  dealings  with  his  subordinates,  but  he  had  also 
manly  feeling  enough  to  attack  the  particular  individ- 


168  ELSIE    VENNER. 

ual  instance  of  wrong  before  him.  There  are  plenty 
of  dealers  in  morals,  as  in  ordinary  traffic,  who  con 
fine  themselves  to  wholesale  business.  They  leave  the 
small  necessity  of  their  next-door  neighbor  to  the  re 
tailers,  who  are  poorer  in  statistics  and  general  facts, 
but  richer  in  the  every-day  charities.  Mr.  Bernard 
felt,  at  first,  as  one  does  who  sees  a  gray  rat  steal  out 
of  a  drain  and  begin  gnawing  at  the  bark  of  some  tree 
loaded  with  fruit  or  blossoms,  which  he  will  soon 
girdle,  if  he  is  let  alone.  The  first  impulse  is  to  mur 
der  him  with  the  nearest  ragged  stone.  Then  one  re 
members  that  he  is  a  rodent,  acting  after  the  law  of 
his  kind,  and  cools  down  and  is  contented  to  drive 
him  off  and  guard  the  tree  against  his  teeth  for  the 
future.  As  soon  as  this  is  done,  one  can  watch  his 
attempts  at  mischief  with  a  certain  amusement. 

This  was  the  kind  of  process  Mr.  Bernard  had  gone 
through.  First,  the  indignant  surprise  of  a  generous 
nature,  when  it  comes  unexpectedly  into  relations 
with  a  mean  one.  Then  the  impulse  of  extermina 
tion,  —  a  divine  instinct,  intended  to  keep  down  ver 
min  of  all  classes  to  their  working  averages  in  the 
economy  of  Nature.  Then  a  return  of  cheerful  toler 
ance,  —  a  feeling,  that,  if  the  Deity  could  bear  with 
rats  and  sharpers,  he  could;  with  a  confident  trust, 
that,  in  the  long  run,  terriers  and  honest  men  would 
have  the  upperhaiid,  and  a  grateful  consciousness  that 
he  had  been  sent  just  at  the  right  time  to  come  be 
tween  a  patient  victim  and  the  master  who  held  her 
in  peonage. 

Having  once  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do,  Mr. 
Bernard  was  as  good-natured  and  hopeful  as  ever. 
He  had  the  great  advantage,  from  his  professional 
training,  of  knowing  how  to  recognize  and  deal  with 


ELSIE   VENNEK.  169 

the  nervous  disturbances  to  which  overtasked  women 
are  so  liable.  He  saw  well  enough  that  Helen  Darley 
would  certainly  kill  herself  or  lose  her  wits,  if  he 
could  not  lighten  her  labors  and  lift  off  a  large  part 
of  her  weight  of  cares.  The  worst  of  it  was,  that  she 
was  one  of  those  women  who  naturally  overwork 
themselves,  like  those  horses  who  will  go  at  the  top  of 
their  pace  until  they  drop.  Such  women  are  dread 
fully  unmanageable.  It  is  as  hard  reasoning  with 
them  as  it  would  have  been  reasoning  with  lo,  when 
she  was  flying  over  land  and  sea,  driven  by  the  sting 
of  the  never-sleeping  gadfly. 

This  was  a  delicate,  interesting  game  that  he 
played.  Under  one  innocent  pretext  or  another,  he 
invaded  this  or  that  special  province  she  had  made 
her  own.  He  would  collect  the  themes  and  have 
them  all  read  and  marked,  answer  all  the  puzzling 
questions  in  mathematics,  make  the  other  teachers 
come  to  him  for  directions,  and  in  this  way  gradually 
took  upon  himself  not  only  all  the  general  superinten 
dence  that  belonged  to  his  office,  but  stole  away  so 
many  of  the  special  duties  which  might  fairly  have 
belonged  to  his  assistant,  that,  before  she  knew  it,  she 
was  looking  better  and  feeling  more  cheerful  than 
for  many  and  many  a  month  before. 

When  the  nervous  energy  is  depressed  by  any  bod 
ily  cause,  or  exhausted  by  overworking,  there  follow 
effects  which  have  often  been  misinterpreted  by  mor 
alists,  and  especially  by  theologians.  The  conscience 
itself  becomes  neuralgic,  sometimes  actually  inflamed, 
so  that  the  least  touch  is  agony.  Of  all  liars  and 
false  accusers,  a  sick  conscience  is  the  most  inventive 
and  indefatigable.  The  devoted  daughter,  wife,  mo 
ther,  whose  life  has  been  given  to  unselfish  labors, 


170 


ELSIE    VENNER. 


who  has  filled  a  place  which  it  seems  to  others  only  an 
angel  would  make  good,  reproaches  herself  with  in 
competence  and  neglect  of  duty.  The  humble  Chris 
tian,  who  has  been  a  model  to  others,  calls  himself  a 
worm  of  the  dust  on  one  page  of  his  diary,  and  ar 
raigns  himself  on  the  next  for  coming  short  of  the 
perfection  of  an  archangel. 

Conscience  itself  requires  a  conscience,  or  nothing 
can  be  more  unscrupulous.  It  told  Saul  that  he  did 
well  in  persecuting  the  Christians.  It  has  goaded 
countless  multitudes  of  various  creeds  to  endless  forms 
of  self-torture.  The  cities  of  India  are  full  of  crip 
ples  it  has  made.  The  hill-sides  of  Syria  are  riddled 
with  holes,  where  miserable  hermits,  whose  lives  it 
had  palsied,  lived  and  died  like  the  vermin  they  har 
bored.  Our  libraries  are  crammed  with  books  written 
by  spiritual  hypochondriacs,  who  inspected  all  their 
moral  secretions  a  dozen  times  a  day.  They  are  full 
ofr  interest,  but  they  should  be  transferred  from  the 
shelf  of  the  theologian  to  that  of  the  medical  man  who 
makes  a  study  of  insanity. 

This  was  the  state  into  which  too  much  work  and 
too  much  responsibility  were  bringing  Helen  Darley, 
when  the  new  master  came  and  lifted  so  much  of  the 
burden  that  was  crushing  her  as  must  be  removed 
before  she  could  have  a  chance  to  recover  her  natural 
elasticity  and  buoyancy.  Many  of  the  noblest  women, 
suffering  like  her,  but  less  fortunate  in  being  relieved 
at  the  right  moment,  die  worried  out  of  life  by  the 
perpetual  teasing  of  this  inflamed,  neuralgic  con 
science.  So  subtile  is  the  line  which  separates  the 
true  and  almost  angelic  sensibility  of  a  healthy,  but 
exalted  nature,  from  the  soreness  of  a  soul  which  is 
sympathizing  with  a  morbid  state  of  the  body  that  it 


ELSIE   VENNER.  171 

is  no  woncier  tney  are  often  confounded.  And  thus 
many  good  women  are  suffered  to  perish  by  that  form 
jof  spontaneous  combustion  in  which  the  victim  goes  on 
toiling  day  and  night  with  the  hidden  fire  consuming 
jher,  until  all  at  once  her  cheek  whitens,  and,  as  we 
look  upon  her,  she  drops  away,  a  heap  of  ashes.  The 
more  they  overwork  themselves,  the  more  exacting  be 
comes  the  sense  of  duty,  —  as  the  draught  of  the  loco 
motive's  furnace  blows  stronger  and  makes  the  fire 
burn  more  fiercely,  the  faster  it  spins  along  the  track. 

It  is  not  very  likely,  as  was  said  at  the  beginning 
of  this  chapter,  that  we  shall  trouble  ourselves  a  great 
deal  about  the  internal  affairs  of  the  Apollinean  In 
stitute.  These  schools  are,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
not  so  very  unlike  each  other  as  to  require  a  minute 
idescription  for  each  particular  one  among  them. 
They  have  all  very  much  the  same  general  features, 
; pleasing  and  displeasing.  All  feeding-establishments 
have  something  odious  about  them,  —  from  the 
wretched  country-houses  where  paupers  are  farmed 
out  to  the  lowest  bidder,  up  to  the  commons -tables  at 
colleges  and  even  the  fashionable  boarding-house.  A 
person's  appetite  should  be  at  war  with  no  other  purse 
than  his  own.  Young  people,  especially,  who  have  a 
bone-factory  at  work  in  them,  and  have  to  feed  the 
living  looms  of  innumerable  growing  tissues,  should 
be  provided  for,  if  possible,  by  those  who  love  them 
like  their  own  flesh  and  blood.  Elsewhere  their  ap 
petites  will  be  sure  to  -make  them  enemies,  or,  what 
are  almost  as  bad,  friends  whose  interests  are  at  vari 
ance  with  the  claims  of  their  exacting  necessities  and 
demands. 

Besides,  all  commercial  transactions  in  regard  to  the 
most  sacred  interests  of  life  are  hateful  even  to  those 


172  ELSIE   VENNER. 

who  profit  by  them.  The  clergyman,  the  physician, 
the  teacher,  must  be  paid;  but  each  of  them,  if  his 
duty  be  performed  in  the  true  spirit,  can  hardly  help 
a  shiver  of  disgust  when  money  is  counted  out  to  him 
for  administering  the  consolations  of  religion,  for  sav 
ing  some  precious  life,  for  sowing  the  seeds  of  Chris 
tian  civilization  in  young  ingenuous  souls. 

And  yet  all  these  schools,  with  their  provincial 
French  and  their  mechanical  accomplishments,  with 
their  cheap  parade  of  diplomas  and  commencements 
and  other  public  honors,  have  an  ever  fresh  interest 
to  all  who  see  the  task  they  are  performing  in  our  new 
social  order.  These  girls  are  not  being  educated  for 
governesses,  or  to  be  exported,  with  other  manufac 
tured  articles,  to  colonies  where  there  happens  to  be  a 
surplus  of  males.  Most  of  them  will  be  wives,  and 
every  American-born  husband  is  a  possible  President 
of  these  United  States.  Any  one  of  these  girls  may 
be  a  four-years'  queen.  There  is  no  sphere  of  human 
activity  so  exalted  that  she  may -not  be  called  upon  to 
fill  it. 

But  there  is  another  consideration  of  far  higher 
interest.  The  education  of  our  community  to  all  that 
is  beautiful  is  flowing  in  mainly  through  its  women, 
and  that  to  ar  considerable  extent  by  the  aid  of  these 
large  establishments,  the  least  perfect  of  which  do 
something  to  stimulate  the  higher  tastes  and  partially 
instruct  them.  Sometimes  there  is,  perhaps,  reason 
.  to  fear  that  girls  will  be  too  highly  educated  for  their 
own  happiness,  if  they  are  lifted  by  their  culture  out 
of  the  range  of  the  practical  and  every-day  working 
youth  by  whom  they  are  surrounded.  But  this  is  a 
risk  we  must  take.  Our  young  men  come  into  active 
life  so  early,  that,  if  our  girls  were  not  educated  to 


ELSIE    v  XMM  ±Jt.  1  Y  '6 


omething  beyond  mere  practical  duties,  our  material 
rosperity  would  outstrip  our  culture;  as  it  often  does 
a  large  places  where  money  is  made  too  rapidly. 
?his  is  the  meaning,  therefore,  of  that  somewhat 
imbitious  programme  common  to  most  of  these  large 
institutions,  at  which  we  sometimes  smile,  perhaps 
mwisely  or  uncharitably. 

We  shall  take  it  for  granted  that  the  routine  of  in 
struction  went  on  at  the  Apollinean  Institute  much  as 
it  does  in  other  schools  of  the  same  class.  People, 
pung  or  old,  are  wonderfully  different,  if  we  contrast 
extremes  in  pairs.  They  approach  much  nearer,  if 
;ve  take  them  in  groups  of  twenty.  Take  two  separate 
aundreds  as  they  come,  without  choosing,  and  you 
^et  the  gamut  of  human  character  in  both  so  com 
pletely  that  you  can  strike  many  chords  in  each  which 
shall  be  in  perfect  unison  with  corresponding  ones  in 
;he  other.  If  we  go  a  step  farther,  and  compare  the 
copulation  of  two  villages  of  the  same  race  and  region, 
;here  is  such  a  regularly  graduated  distribution  and 
jarallelism  of  character,  that  it  seems  as  if  Nature 
nust  turn  out  human  beings  in  sets  like  chessmen. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  position  in  which  Mr. 
Bernard  now  found  himself  had  a  pleasing  danger 
ibout  it  which  might  well  justify  all  the  fears  enter 
tained  on  his  account  by  more  experienced  friends, 
ivhen  they  learned  that  he  was  engaged  in  a  Young 
Ladies'  Seminary.  The  school  never  went  on  more 
smoothly  than  during  the  first  period  of  his  adminis- 
jration,  after  he  had  arranged  its  duties,  and  taken 
tiis  share,  and  even  more  than  his  share,  upon  himself  „ 
But  human  nature  does  not  wait  for  the  diploma  of 
the  Apollinean  Institute  to  claim  the  exercise  of  its 
instincts  and  faculties.  These  young  girls  saw  but 


174  ELSIE   VENNER. 

little  of  the  youth  of  the  neighborhood.  The  mansion- 
house  young  men  were  off  at  college  or  in  the  cities, 
or  making  love  to  each  other's  sisters,  or  at  any  rate 
unavailable  for  some  reason  or  other.  There  were  a 
few  "clerks,"  —that  is,  young  men  who  attended 
shops,  commonly  called  "stores,"  —  who  were  fond  of 
walking  by  the  Institute,  when  they  were  off  duty,  for 
the  sake  of  exchanging  a  word  or  a  glance  with  any 
one  of  the  young  ladies  they  might  happen  to  know,  if 
any  such  were  stirring  abroad:  crude  young  men, 
mostly,  with  a  great  many  "Sirs"  and  "Ma'ams" 
in  their  speech,  and  with  that  style  of  address  some 
times  acquired  in  the  retail  business,  as  if  the  sales 
man  were  recommending  himself  to  a  customer,  - 
"First-rate  family  article,  Ma'am;  warranted  to  wear 
a  lifetime ;  just  one  yard  and  three  quarters  in  this 
pattern,  Ma'am;  sha'n't  I  have  the  pleasure?"  and 
so  forth.  If  there  had  been  ever  so  many  of  them, 
and  if  they  had  been  ever  so  fascinating,  the  quaran 
tine  of  the  Institute  was  too  rigorous  to  allow  any 
romantic  infection  to  be  introduced  from  without. 

Anybody  might  see  what  would  happen,  with  a 
good-looking,  well-dressed,  well-bred  young  man,  who 
had  the  authority  of  a  master,  it  is  true,  but  the  man 
ners  of  a  friend  and  equal,  moving  about  among  these 
young  girls  day  after  day,  his  eyes  meeting  theirs,  his 
breath  mingling  with  theirs,  his  voice  growing  fa 
miliar  to  them,  never  in  any  harsh  tones,  often  sooth 
ing,  encouraging,  always  sympathetic,  with  its  male 
depth  and  breadth  of  sound  among  the  chorus  of 
trebles,  as  if  it  were  a  river  in  which  a  hundred  of 
these  little  piping  streamlets  might  lose  themselves; 
anybody  might  see  what  would  happen.  Young  girls 
wrote  home  to  their  parents  that  they  enjoyed  them- 


175 


selves  much,  this  term,  at  the  Institute,  and  thought 
they  were  making  rapid  progress  in  their  studies. 
There  was  a  great  enthusiasm  for  the  young  master's 
reading-classes  in  English  poetry.  Some  of  the  poor 
little  things  began  to  adorn  themselves  with  an  extra 
ribbon,  or  a  bit  of  such  jewelry  as  they  had  before 
kept  for  great  occasions.  Dear  souls  !  they  only  half 
knew  what  they  were  doing  it  for.  Does  the  bird 
know  why  its  feathers  grow  more  brilliant  and  its  voice 
becomes  musical  in  the  pairing  season? 

And  so,  in  the  midst  of  this  quiet  inland  town, 
where  a  mere  accident  had  placed  Mr.  Bernard  Lang- 
don,  there  was  a  concentration  of  explosive  materials 
which  might  at  any  time  change  its  Arcadian  and  ac 
ademic  repose  into  a  scene  of  dangerous  commotion. 
What  said  Helen  Darley,  when  she  saw  with  her 
woman's  glance  that  more  than  one  girl,  when  she 
should  be  looking  at  her  book,  was  looking  over  it 
toward  the  master's  desk?  Was  her  own  heart 
warmed,  by  any  livelier  feeling  than  gratitude,  as  its 
life  began  to  flow  with  fuller  pulses,  and  the  morning 
sky  again  looked  bright  and  the  flowers  recovered  their 
lost  fragrance?  Was  there  any  strange,  mysterious 
affinity  between  the  master  and  the  dark  girl  who  sat 
by  herself?  Could  she  call  him  at  will  by  looking  at 
him?  Could  it  be  that  —  ?  It  made  her  shiver  to 
think  of  it.  —  And  who  was  that  strange  horseman 
who  passed  Mr.  Bernard  at  dusk  the  other  evening, 
looking  so  like  Mephistopheles  galloping  hard  to  be  in 
season  at  the  witches'  Sabbath-gathering?  That  must 
be  the  cousin  of  Elsie's  who  wants  to  marry  her,  they 
say.  A  dangerous-looking  fellow  for  a  rival,  if  one 
took  a  fancy  to  the  dark  girl  !  And  who  is  she,  and 
what  ?  —  by  what  demon  is  she  haunted,  by  what  taint 


176  ELSlfc   VENNER. 

is  she  blighted,  by  what  curse  is  she  followed,  by  what 
destiny  is  she  marked,  that  her  strange  beauty  has  such 
a  terror  in  it,  and  that  hardly  one  shall  dare  to  love 
her,  and  her  eye  glitters  always,  but  warms  for  none  ? 

Some  of  these  questions  are  ours.  Some  were  Helen 
Darley's.  Some  of  them  mingled  with  the  dreams  of 
Bernard  Langdon,  as  he  slept  the  night  after  meeting 
the  strange  horseman.  In  the  morning  he  happened 
to  be  a  little  late  in  entering  the  schoolroom.  There 
was  something  between  the  leaves  of  the  Virgil  which 
lay  upon  his  desk.  He  opened  it  and  saw  a  freshly 
gathered  mountain-flower.  He  looked  at  Elsie,  in 
stinctively,  involuntarily.  She  had  another  such 
flower  on  her  breast. 

A  young  girl's  graceful  compliment,  — that  is  all, 
—  no  doubt,  —  no  doubt.  It  was  odd  that  the  flower 
should  have  happened  to  be  laid  between  the  leaves 
of  the  Fourth  Book  of  the  "^Eneid,"  and  at  this 

line, — 

"  Incipit  effari,  mediaque  in  voce  resistit." 

A  remembrance  of  an  ancient  superstition  flashed 
through  the  master's  mind,  and  he  determined  to  try 
the  /Sortes  Virgiliance.  He  shut  the  volume,  and 
opened  it  again  at  a  venture.  —  The  story  of  Lao- 
coon! 

He  read  with  a  strange  feeling  of  unwilling  fasci 
nation,  from  " Horresco  referens"  to  "Bis  medium 
amplexi,"  and  flung  the  book  from  him,  as  if  its  leaves 
had  been  steeped  in  the  subtle  poisons  that  princes 
die  of. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

CURIOSITY. 

PEOPLE  will  talk.  Ciascun  lo  dice  is  a  tune  thas 
is  played  oftener  than  the  national  air  of  this  country 
or  any  other. 

"That  's  what  they  say.  Means  to  marry  her,  if 
she  is  his  cousin.  Got  money  himself ,  —  that 's  the 
story,  —  but  wants  to  come  and  live  in  the  old  place, 
and  get  the  Dudley  property  by  and  by."  —  "Mo 
ther's  folks  was  wealthy." — "Twenty-three  to  twenty- 
five  year  old. " —  "He  a'n'tmore  'n  twenty,  or  twenty- 
one  at  the  outside." —  "Looks  as  if  he  knew  too  much 
to  be  only  twenty  year  old." — "Guess  he  's  been 
through  the  mill,  —  don't  look  so  green,  anyhow,  — 
hey?  Did  y'  ever  mind  that  cut  over  his  left  eye 
brow  ?  " 

So  they  gossiped  in  Roekland.  The  young  fellows 
could  make  nothing  of  Dick  Venner.  He  was  shy  and 
proud  with  the  few  who  made  advances  to  him.  The 
young  ladies  called  him  handsome  and  romantic,  but 
he  looked  at  them  like  a  many -tailed  pacha  who  was 
in  the  habit  of  ordering  his  wives  by  the  dozen. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  young  man  over  there 
at  the  Verniers'?"  said  Miss  Arabella  Thornton  to 
her  father. 

"Handsome,"  said  the  Judge,  "but  dangerous-look 
ing.  His  face  is  indictable  at  common  law.  Do  you 
know,  my  dear,  I  think  there  is  a  blank  at  the  Sher 
iff's  office,  with  a  place  for  his  name  in  it?  " 


178  ELSIE  VENNER. 

The  Judge  paused  and  looked  grave,  as  if  he  had 
just  listened  to  the  verdict  of  the  jury  and  was  going 
to  pronounce  sentence. 

"Have  you  heard  anything  against  him?"  said  the 
Judge's  daughter. 

"  Nothing.  But  I  don't  like  these  mixed  bloods 
and  half-told  stories.  Besides,  I  have  seen  a  good 
many  desperate  fellows  at  the  bar,  and  I  have  a  fancy 
they  all  have  a  look  belonging  to  them.  The  worst 
one  I  ever  sentenced  looked  a  good  deal  like  this  fel 
low.  A  wicked  mouth.  All  our  other  features  are 
1  made  for  us;  but  a  man  makes  his  own  mouth." 

"Who  was  the  person  you  sentenced?  " 

"  He  was  a  young  fellow  that  undertook  to  garrote 
a  man  who  had  won  his  money  at  cards.  The  same 
slender  shape,  the  same  cunning,  fierce  look,  smoothed 
over  with  a  plausible  air.  Depend  upon  it,  there  is 
an  expression  in  all  the  sort  of  people  who  live  by 
their  wits  when  they  can,  and  by  worse  weapons  when 
their  wits  fail  them,  that  we  old  law-doctors  know 
just  as  well  as  the  medical  counsellors  know  the  marks 
of  disease  in  a  man's  face.  Dr.  Kittredge  looks  at  a 
I  man  and  says  he  is  going  to  die ;  I  look  at  another 
\rnan  and  say  he  is  going  to  be  hanged,  if  nothing  hap 
pens.  I  don't  say  so  of  this  one,  but  I  don't  like  his 
looks.  I  wonder  Dudley  Venner  takes  to  him  so 
kindly." 

"It's  all  for  Elsie's  sake,"  said  Miss  Thornton. 
"I  feel  quite  sure  of  that.  He  never  does  anything 
that  is  not  meant  for  her  in  some  way.  I  suppose  it 
amuses  her  to  have  her  cousin  about  the  house.  She 
rides  a  good  deal  since  he  has  been  here.  Have  you 
seen  them  galloping  about  together?  He  looks  like 
my  idea  of  a  Spanish  bandit  on  that  wild  I 
his." 


ELSIE   VENNER.  179 

"Possibly  he  has  been  one,  — or  is  one,"  said  the 
Judge,  —  smiling  as  men  smile  whose  lips  have  often 
I  been  freighted  with  the  life  and  death  of  their  fellow* 
;  creatures.  "  I  met  them  riding  the  other  day.  Per- 
i  haps  Dudley  is  right,  if  it  pleases  her  to  have  a  com- 
'panion.  What  will  happen,  though,  if  he  makes  love 
to  her  ?  Will  Elsie  be  easily  taken  with  such  a  fel 
low?  You  young  folks  are  supposed  to  know  more 
about  these  matters  than  we  middle-aged  people." 

"Nobody  can  tell.  Elsie  is  not  like  anybody  else. 
The  girls  who  have  seen  most  of  her  think  she  hates 
men,  all  but  '  Dudley,'  as  she  calls  her  father.  Some 
of  them  doubt  whether  she  loves  him.  They  doubt 
whether  she  can  love  anything  human,  except  perhaps 
the  old  black  woman  who  has  taken  care  of  her  since 
!  she  was  a  baby.  The  village  people  have  the  stran- 
;  gest  stories  about  her ;  you  know  what  they  call  her  ?  v 

She  whispered  three  words  in  her  father's  ear.  The 
Judge  changed  color  as  she  spoke,  sighed  deeply,  and 
was  silent  as  if  lost  in  thought  for  a  moment. 

"I  remember  her  mother,"  he  said,  "so  well!  A 
sweeter  creature  never  lived.  Elsie  has  something  of 
her  in  her  look,  but  those  are  not  her  mother's  eyes. 
They  were  dark,  but  soft,  as  in  all  I  ever  saw  of  her 
race.  Her  father's  are  dark  too,  but  mild,  and  even 
tender,  I  should  say.  I  don't  know  what  there  is 
about  Elsie's, — but  do  you  know,  my  dear,  I  find 
myself  curiously  influenced  by  them?  I  have  had  to 
face  a  good  many  sharp  eyes  and  hard  ones,  —  mur 
derers'  eyes  and  pirates',  —  men  who  had  to  be  watched 
in  the  bar,  where  they  stood  on  trial,  for  fear  they 
should  spring  on  the  prosecuting  officers  like  tigers, 
—  but  I  never  saw  such  eyes  as  Elsie's;  and  yet  they 
have  a  kind  of  drawing  virtue  or  power  about  them, 


180  ELSIE  VENNER. 

—  I  don't   knpw  what  else  to  call  it:  have  you  never 
observed  this?" 

His  daughter  smiled  in  her  turn. 

"Never  observed  it  ?  Why,  of  course,  nobody 
could  be  with  Elsie  Venner  and  not  observe  it.  There 
are  a  good  many  other  strange  things  about  her :  did 
you  ever  notice  how  she  dresses?" 

"Why,  handsomely  enough,  I  should  think,"  the 
Judge  answered.  "I  suppose  she  dresses  as  she  likes, 
and  sends  to  the  city  for  what  she  wants.  What  do 
you  mean  in  particular?  We  men  notice  effects  in 
dress,  but  not  much  in  detail." 

"You  never  noticed  the  colors  and  patterns  of  her 
dresses  ?     You  never  remarked  anything  curious  about 
her    ornaments?     Well!     I    don't  believe  you   men 
know,  half  the  time,  whether  a  lady  wears  a  ninepenny  i 
collar  or  a  thread-lace  cape  worth  a  thousand  dollars. 
I  don't  believe  you  know  a  silk  dress  from  a  bombs 
zine  one.     I  don't   believe  you  can   tell  whether 
woman  is  in  black  or  in  colors,  unless  you  happen 
to  know  she  is  a  widow.     Elsie  Venner  has  a  strange  I 
taste  in  dress,  let  me  tell  you.     She  sends  for  the  I 
oddest  patterns  of  stuffs,  and  picks  out  the  most  curi-  1 
ous  things  at  the  jeweller's,  whenever  she  goes  to  town  j 
with  her  father.     They  say  the  old  Doctor  tells  him  1 
to  let  her  have  her  way  about  such  matters.     Afraid  | 
of   her  mind,   if   she  is  contradicted,   I  suppose.  — 
You  've  heard  about  her  going  to  school  at  that  place,  j 

—  the  '  Institoot,'  as  those  people  call  it  ?     They  say  I 
she  's   bright   enough  in  her  way,  —  has   studied  at  I 
home,  you  know,  with  her   father   a   good   deal,  — 
knows  some  modern  languages  and  Latin,  I  believe:  I 
at  any  rate,  she  would  have  it  so,  —  she  must  go  to  I 
the  'Institoot.'    They  have  a  very  good  female  teacher  I 


ELSIE    VENNER.  181 

there,  I  hear;  and  the  new  master,  that  young  Mr. 
Langdon,  looks  and  talks  like  a  well-educated  young 
man.  I  wonder  what  they  '11  make  of  Elsie,  between 
them!" 

So  they  talked  at  the  Judge's,  in  the  calm,  judicial- 
looking  mansion-house,  in  the  grave,  still  library, 
with  the  troops  of  wan-hued  law-books  staring  blindly 
out  of  their  titles  at  them  as  they  talked,  like  the 
ghosts  of  dead  attorneys  fixed  motionless  and  speech 
less,  each  with  a  thin,  golden  film  over  his  unwinking 
eyes. 

In  the  mean  time,  everything  went  on  quietly 
enough  after  Cousin  Richard's  return.  A  man  of 
sense,  —  that  is,  a  man  who  knows  perfectly  well  that 
a  cool  head  is  worth  a  dozen  warm  hearts  in  carry 
ing  the  fortress  of  a  woman's  affections,  (not  yours, 
"Astarte,"  nor  yours,  "Viola,")  —  who  knows  that 
men  are  rejected  by  women  every  day  because  they, 
the  men,  love  them,  and  are  accepted  every  day  be 
cause  they  do  not,  and  therefore  can  study  the  arts  of 
pleasing,  —  a  man  of  sense,  when  he  finds  he  has 
established  his  second  parallel  too  soon,  retires  quietly 
to  his  first,  and  begins  working  on  his  covered  ways 
again.  [The  whole  art  of  love  may  be  read  in  any 
Encyclopedia  under  the  title  Fortification,  where  the 
terms  just  used  are  explained.]  After  the  little  ad 
venture  of  the  necklace,  Dick  retreated  at  once  to  his 
first  parallel.  Elsie  loved  riding,  —  and  would  go  off 
with  him  on  a  gallop  now  and  then.  He  was  a  mas 
ter  of  all  those  strange  Indian  horseback-feats  which 
shame  the  tricks  of  the  circus-riders,  and  used  to  as 
tonish  and  almost  amuse  her  sometimes  by  disappear 
ing  from  his  saddle,  like  a  phantom  horseman  lying 
flat  against  the  side  of  the  bounding  creature  that  bore 


182 

him,  as  if  he  were  a  hunting  leopard  with  his  claws  in 
the  horse's  flank  and  flattening  himself  out  against 
his  heaving  ribs.  Elsie  knew  a  little  Spanish  too, 
which  she  had  learned  from  the  young  person  who 
had  taught  her  dancing,  and  Dick  enlarged  her  vocab 
ulary  with  a  few  soft  phrases,  and  would  sing  her  a 
song  sometimes,  touching  the  air  upon  an  ancient- 
looking  guitar  they  had  found  with  the  ghostly  things 
in  the  garret,  —  a  quaint  old  instrument,  marked  E. 
M.  on  the  back,  and  supposed  to  have  belonged  to 
a  certain  Elizabeth  Mascarene,  before  mentioned  in 
connection  with  a  work  of  art, — a  fair,  dowerless 
lady,  who  smiled  and  sung  and  faded  away,  unwed- 
ded,  a  hundred  years  ago,  as  dowerless  ladies,  not  a 
few,  are  smiling  and  singing  and  fading  now,  —  God 
grant  each  of  them  His  love,  —  and  one  human  heart 
as  its  interpreter ! 

As  for  school,  Elsie  went  or  stayed  away  as  she 
liked.  Sometimes,  when  they  thought  she  was  at  her 
desk  in  the  great  schoolroom,  she  would  be  on  The 
Mountain,  —  alone  always.  Dick  wanted  to  go  with 
her,  but  she  would  never  let  him.  Once,  when  she  had 
followed  the  zigzag  path  a  little  way  up,  she  looked 
back  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  following  her.  She 
turned  and  passed  him  without  a  word,  but  giving 
him  a  look  which  seemed  to  make  the  scars  on  his 
wrist  tingle,  went  to  her  room,  where  she  locked  her 
self  up,  and  did  not  come  out  again  till  evening,  — 
Old  Sophy  having  brought  her  food,  and  set  it  down, 
not  speaking,  but  looking  into  her  eyes  inquiringly, 
like  a  dumb  beast  trying  to  feel  out  his  master's  will 
in  his  face.  The  evening  was  clear  and  the  moon 
shining.  As  Dick  sat  at  his  chamber-window,  looking 
at  the  mountain-side,  he  saw  a  gray-dressed  figure  flit 


ELSIE  VENNER.  183 

'tween  the  trees  and  steal  along  the  narrow  path 
hich  led  upward.  Elsie's  pillow  was  impressed  that 
ght,  but  she  had  not  been  missed  by  the  household, 
-for  Dick  knew  enough  to  keep  his  own  counsel, 
be  next  morning  she  avoided  him  and  went  off  early 
school.  It  was  the  same  morning  that  the  young 
aster  found  the  flower  between  the  leaves  of  his 
irgil. 

The  girl  got  over  her  angry  fit,  and  was  pleasant 
tough  with  her  cousin  for  a  few  days  after  this; 
it  she  shunned  rather  than  sought  him.  She  had 
ken  a  new  interest  in  her  books,  and  especially  in 
rtain  poetical  readings  which  the  master  conducted 
ith  the  elder  scholars.  This  gave  Master  Langdon 
good  chance  to  study  her  ways  when  her  eye  was  on 
T  book,  to  notice  the  inflections  of  her  voice,  to 
itch  for  any  expression  of  her  sentiments;  for,  to 
11  the  truth,  he  had  a  kind  of  fear  that  the  girl  had 
ken  a  fancy  to  him,  and,  though  she  interested  him, 
i  did  not  wish  to  study  her  heart  from  the  inside. 
The  more  he  saw  her,  the  more  the  sadness  of  her 
auty  wrought  upon  him.  She  looked  as  if  she  might 
-te,  but  could  not  love.  She  hardly  smiled  at  any- 
ing,  spoke  rarely,  but  seemed  to  feel  that  her  nat 
al  power  of  expression  lay  all  in  her  bright  eyes, 
e  force  of  which  so  many  had  felt,  but  none  perhaps 
d  tried  to  explain  to  themselves.  A  person  accus- 
med  to  watch  the  faces  of  those  who  were  ailing  in 
dy  or  mind,  and  to  search  in  every  line  and  tint  for 
me  underlying  source  of  disorder,  could  hardly  help 
alyzing  the  impression  such  a  face  produced  upon 
na.  The  light  of  those  beautiful  eyes  was  like  the 
stre  of  ice ;  in  all  her  features  there  was  nothing  of 
at  human  warmth  which  shows  that  sympathy  has 


184  ELSIE   VENNER. 

reached  the  soul  beneath  the  mask  of  flesh  it  wears. 
The  look  was  that  of  remoteness,  of  utter  isolation. 
There  was  in  its  stony  apathy,  it  seemed  to  him,  the 
pathos  which  we  find  in  the  blind  who  show  no  film 
or  speck  over  the  organs  of  sight;  for  Nature  had 
meant  her  to  be  lovely,  and  left  out  nothing  but  love. 
And  yet  the  master  could  not  help  feeling  that  some 
instinct  was  working  in  this  girl  which  was  in  some 
way  leading  her  to  seek  his  presence.  She  did  not 
lift  her  glittering  eyes  upon  him  as  at  first.  It 
seemed  strange  that  she  did  not,  for  they  were  surely 
her  natural  weapons  of  conquest.  Her  color  did  not 
come  and  go  like  that  of  young  girls  under  excitement. 
She  had  a  clear  brunette  complexion,  a  little  sun- 
touched,  it  may  be,  —  for  the  master  noticed  once, 
when  her  necklace  was  slightly  displaced,  that  a  faint 
ring  or  band  of  a  little  lighter  shade  than  the  rest  of 
the  surface  encircled  her  neck.  What  was  the  slight 
peculiarity  of  her  enunciation,  when  she  read?  Not  a 
lisp,  certainly,  but  the  least  possible  imperfection  in 
articulating  some  of  the  lingual  sounds,  —  just  enough 
to  be  noticed  at  first,  and  quite  forgotten  after  being 
a  few  times  heard. 

Not  a  word  about  the  flower  on  either  side.  It  was 
not  uncommon  for  the  schoolgirls  to  leave  a  rose  or 
pink  or  wild  flower  on  the  teacher's  desk.  Finding 
it  in  the  Virgil  was  nothing,  after  all ;  it  was  a  little 
delicate  flower,  which  looked  as  if  it  were  made  to 
press,  and  it  was  probably  shut  in  by  accident  at  the 
particular  place  where  he  found  it.  He  took  it  into 
his  head  to  examine  it  in  a  botanical  point  of  view. 
He  found  it  was  not  common,  —  that  it  grew  only  in 
certain  localities,  —  and  that  one  of  these  was  among 
the  rocks  of  the  eastern  spur  of  The  Mountain. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  185 

It  happened  to  come  into  his  head  how  the  Swiss 
youth  ,climb  the  sides  of  the  Alps  to  find  the  flower 
called  the  Edelweiss  for  the  maidens  whom  they  wish 
to  please.  It  is  a  pretty  fancy,  that  of  scaling  some 
dangerous  height  before  the  dawn,  so  as  to  gather  the 
flower  in  its  freshness,  that  the  favored  maiden  may 
wear  it  to  church  on  Sunday  morning,  a  proof  at 
once  of  her  lover*s  devotion  and  his  courage.  Mr. 
Bernard  determined  to  explore  the  region  where  this 
flower  was  said  to  grow,  that  he  might  see  where  the 
wild  girl  sought  the  blossoms  of  which  Nature  was  so 
jealous. 

It  was  on  a  warm,  fair  Saturday  afternoon  that  he 
undertook  his  land-voyage  of  discovery.  He  had 
more  curiosity,  it  may  be,  than  he  would  have  owned ; 
for  he  had  heard  of  the  girl's  wandering  habits,  and 
the  guesses  about  her  sylvan  haunts,  and  was  think 
ing  what  the  chances  were  that  he  should  meet  her  in 
some  strange  place,  or  come  upon  traces  of  her  which 
would  tell  secrets  she  would  not  care  to  have  known. 

The  woods  are  all  alive  to  one  who  walks  through 
them  with  his  mind  in  an  excited  state,  and  his  eyes 
and  ears  wide  open.  The  trees  are  always  talking,  not 
merely  whispering  with  their  leaves,  (for  every  tree 
talks  to  itself  in  that  way,  even  when  it  stands  alone 
in  the  middle  of  a  pasture,)  but  grating  their  boughs 
against  each  other,  as  old  horn-handed  farmers  presc 
their  dry,  rustling  palms  together,  dropping  a  nut  or 
a  leaf  or  a  twig,  clicking  to  the  tap  of  a  woodpecker, 
or  rustling  as  a  squirrel  flashes  along  a  branch.  It 
was  now  the  season  of  sinmnsf-birds,  and  the  woods 

O        O 

were  haunted  with  mysterious,  tender  music.  The 
voices  of  the  birds  which  love  the  deeper  shades  of 
the  forest  are  sadder  than  those  of  the  open  fields: 


186  ELSIE   VENNER. 

these  are  the  nuns  who  have  taken  the  veil,  the  her 
mits  that  have  hidden  themselves  away  from  the  world 
and  tell  their  griefs  to  the  infinite  listening  Silences 
of  the  wilderness,  —  for  the  one  deep  inner  silence  that 
Nature  breaks  with  her  fitful  superficial  sounds  be 
comes  multiplied  as  the  image  of  a  star  in  ruffled 
waters.  Strange !  The  woods  at  first  convey  the  im 
pression  of  profound  repose,  and  yet,  if  you  watch 
their  ways  with  open  ear,  you  find  the  life  which  is  in 
them  is  restless  and  nervous  as  that  of  a  woman :  the 
little  twigs  are  crossing  and  twining  and  separating 
like  slender  fingers  that  cannot  be  still ;  the  stray  leaf 
is  to  be  flattened  into  its  place  like  a  truant  curl ;  the 
limbs  sway  and  twist,  impatient  of  their  constrained 
attitude ;  and  the  rounded  masses  of  foliage  swell  up 
ward  and  subside  from  time  to  time  with  long  soft 
sighs,  and,  it  may  be,  the  falling  of  a  few  rain-drops 
which  had  lain  hidden  among  the  deeper  shadows.  I 
pray  you,  notice,  in  the  sweet  summer  days  which  will 
soon  see  you  among  the  mountains,  this  inward  tran 
quillity  that  belongs  to  the  heart  of  the  woodland,  with 
this  nervousness,  for  I  do  not  know  what  else  to  call 
it,  of  outer  movement.  One  would  say,  that  Nature, 
like  untrained  persons,  could  not  sit  still  without  nest 
ling  about  or  doing  something  with  her  limbs  or  fea 
tures,  and  that  high  breeding  was  only  to  be  looked 
for  in  trim  gardens,  where  the  soul  of  the  trees  is  ill 
at  ease  perhaps,  but  their  manners  are  unexception 
able,  and  a  rustling  branch  or  leaf  falling  out  of  sea 
son  is  an  indecorum.  The  real  forest  is  hardly  still 
except  in  the  Indian  summer ;  then  there  is  death  in 
the  house,  and  they  are  waiting  for  the  sharp  shrunken 
months  to  come  with  white  raiment  for  the  summer's 
burial. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  187 

There  were  many  hemlocks  in  this  neighborhood,  the 
grandest  and  most  solemn  of  all  the  forest-trees  in  the 
mountain  regions.  Up  to  a  certain  period  of  growth 
they  are  eminently  beautiful,  their  boughs  disposed  in 
the  most  graceful  pagoda-like  series  of  close  terraces, 
thick  and  dark  with  green  crystalline  leaflets.  In 
spring  the  tender  shoots  come  out  of  a  paler  green, 
finger-like,  as  if  they  were  pointing  to  the  violets  at 
their  feet.  But  when  the  trees  have  grown  old,  and 
their  rough  boles  measure  a  yard  and  more  through 
their  diameter,  they  are  no  longer  beautiful,  but  they 
have  a  sad  solemnity  all  their  own,  too  full  of  mean 
ing  to  require  the  heart's  comment  to  be  framed  in 
words.  Below,  all  their  earthward-looking  branches 
are  sapless  and  shattered,  splintered  by  the  weight 
of  many  winters'  snows;  above,  they  are  still  green 
and  full  of  life,  but  their  summits  overtop  all  the 
deciduous  trees  around  them,  and  in  their  compan 
ionship  with  heaven  they  are  alone.  On  these  the 
lightning  loves  to  fall.  One  such  Mr.  Bernard  saw, 
—  or  rather,  what  had  been  one  such;  for  the  bolt 
had  torn  the  tree  like  an  explosion  from  within,  and 
the  ground  was  strewed  all  around  the  broken  stump 
with  flakes  of  rough  bark  and  strips  and  chips  of 
shivered  wood,  into  which  the  old  tree  had  been  rent 
by  the  bursting  rocket  from  the  thunder-cloud. 

—  The  mister  had  struck  up  The  Mountain 
obliquely  from  the  western  side  of  the  Dudley  man 
sion-house.  In  this  way  he  ascended  until  he  reached 
a  point  many  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
plain,  and  commanding  all  the  country  beneath  and 
around.  Almost  at  his  feet  he  saw  the  mansion- 
house,  the  chimney  standing  out  of  the  middle  of  the 
roof,  or  rather,  like  a  black  square  hole  in  it,  —  the 


188  ELSIE  VENNER. 

trees  almost  directly  over  their  stems,  the  fences  as 
lines,  the  whole  nearly  as  an  architect  would  draw  a 
ground-plan  of  the  house  and  the  inclosures  round  it. 
It  frightened  him  to  see  how  the  huge  masses  of  rock 
and  old  forest-growths  hung  over  the  home  below. 
As  he  descended  a  little  and  drew  near  the  ledge  of 
evil  name,  he  was  struck  with  the  appearance  of  a 
long  narrow  fissure  that  ran  parallel  with  it  and  above 
it  for  many  rods,  not  seemingly  of  very  old  standing, 
—  for  there  were  many  fibres  of  roots  which  had  evi 
dently  been  snapped  asunder  when  the  rent  took  place, 
and  some  of  which  were  still  succulent  in  both  sepa 
rated  portions. 

Mr.  Bernard  had  made  up  his  mind,  when  he  set 
forth,  not  to  come  back  before  he  had  examined  the 
dreaded  ledge.  He  had  half  persuaded  himself  that 
it  was  scientific  curiosity.  He  wished  to  examine  the 
rocks,  to  see  what  flowers  grew  there,  and  perhaps  to 
pick  up  an  adventure  in  the  zoological  line;  for  he 
had  on  a  pair  of  high,  stout  boots,  and  he  carried  a 
stick  in  his  hand,  which  was  forked  at  one  extremity, 
so  as  to  be  very  convenient  to  hold  down  a  crotalus 
with,  if  he  should  happen  to  encounter  one.  He  knew 
the  aspect  of  the  ledge  from  a  distance ;  for  its  bald 
and  leprous-looking  declivities  stood  out  in  their  na 
kedness  from  the  wooded  sides  of  The  Mountain,  when 
this  was  viewed  from  certain  points  of  the  village. 
But  the  nearer  aspect  of  the  blasted  region  had  some 
thing  frightful  in  it.  The  cliffs  were  water-worn,  as 
if  they  had  been  gnawed  for  thousands  of  years  by 
hungry  waves.  In  some  places  they  overhung  their 
base  so  as  to  look  like  leaning  towers  which  might 
topple  over  at  any  minute.  In  other  parts  they  were 
scooped  into  niches  or  caverns.  Here  and  there  they 


ELSIE   VENNER.  189 

were  cracked  in  deep  fissures,  some  of  them  of  such 
width  that  one  might  enter  them,  if  he  cared  to  run 
the  risk  of  meeting  the  regular  tenants,  who  might 
treat  him  as  an  intruder. 

Parts  of  the  ledge  were  cloven  perpendicularly,  with 
nothing  but  cracks  or  slightly  projecting  edges  in. 
which  or  on  which  a  foot  could  find  hold.  High  up 
on  one  of  these  precipitous  walls  of  rock  he  saw  some 
tufts  of  flowers,  and  knew  them  at  once  for  the  same 
that  he  had  found  between  the  leaves  of  his  Virgil. 
Not  there,  surely!  No  woman  would  have  clung 
against  that  steep,  rough  parapet  to  gather  an  idle 
blossom.  And  yet  the  master  looked  round  every 
where,  and  even  up  the  side  of  that  rock,  to  see  if 
there  were  no  signs  of  a  woman's  footstep.  He 
peered  about  curiously,  as  if  his  eye  might  fall  on 
some  of  those  fragments  of  dress  which  women  leave 
after  them,  whenever  they  run  against  each  other  or 
against  anything  else,  —  in  crowded  ballrooms,  in  the 
brushwood  after  picnics,  on  the  fences  after  rambles, 
scattered  round  over  every  place  which  has  witnessed 
an  act  of  violence,  where  rude  hands  have  been  laid 
upon  them.  Nothing.  Stop,  though,  one  moment. 
That  stone  is  smooth  and  polished,  as  if  it  had  been 
somewhat  worn  by  the  pressure  of  human  feet. 
There  is  one  twig  broken  among  the  stems  of  that 
clump  of  shrubs.  He  put  his  foot  upon  the  stone  and 
took  hold  of  the  close-clinging  shrub.  In  this  way 
he  turned  a  sharp  angle  of  the  rock  and  found  himself 
on  a  natural  platform,  which  lay  in  front  of  one  of 
the  wider  fissures,  —  whether  the  mouth  of  a  cavern  or 
not  he  could  not  yet  tell.  A  flat  stone  made  an  easy 
seat,  upon  which  he  sat  down,  as  he  was  very  glad  to 
do,  and  looked1  mechanically  about  him.  A  small 


190  ELSIE   VENNER. 

fragment  splintered  from  the  rock  was  at  his  feet. 
He  took  it  and  threw  it  down  the  declivity  a  little 
below  where  he  sat.  He  looked  about  for  a  stem  or 
a  straw  of  some  kind  to  bite  upon,  —  a  country-in 
stinct,  —  relic,  no  doubt,  of  the  old  vegetable-feeding 
habits  of  Eden.  Is  that  a  stem  or  a  straw?  He 
picked  it  up.  It  was  a  hair-pin. 

To  say  that  Mr.  Langdon  had  a  strange  sort  of 
thrill  shoot  through  him  at  the  sight  of  this  harmless 
little  implement  would  be  a  statement  not  at  variance 
with  the  fact  of  the  case.  That  smooth  stone  had 
been  often  trodden,  and  by  what  foot  he  could  not 
doubt.  He  rose  up  from  his  seat  to  look  round  for 
other  signs  of  a  woman's  visits.  What  if  there  is  a 
cavern  here,  where  she  has  a  retreat,  fitted  up,  per 
haps,  as  anchorites  fitted  their  cells,  —  nay,  it  may 
be,  carpeted  and  mirrored,  and  with  one  of  those 
tiger-skins  for  a  couch,  such  as  they  say  the  girl  loves 
to  lie  on?  Let  us  look,  at  any  rate. 

Mr.  Bernard  walked  to  the  mouth  of  the  cavern  or 
fissure  and  looked  into  it.  His  look  was  met  by  the 
glitter  of  two  diamond  eyes,  small,  sharp,  cold,  shin 
ing  out  of  the  darkness,  but  gliding  with  a  smooth, 
steady  motion  towards  the  light,  and  himself.  He 
stood  fixed,  struck  dumb,  staring  back  into  them  with 
dilating  pupils  and  sudden  numbness  of  fear  that  can 
not  move,  as  in  the  terror  of  dreams.  The  two  sparks 
of  light  came  forward  until  they  grew  to  circles  of 
flame,  and  all  at  once  lifted  themselves  up  as  if  in 
angry  surprise.  Then  for  the  first  time  thrilled  in 
Mr.  Bernard's  ears  the  dreadful  sound  that  nothing 
which  breathes,  be  it  man  or  brute,  can  hear  unmoved, 
—  the  long,  loud,  stinging  whirr,  as  the  huge,  thick- 
bodied  reptile  shook  his  many- jointed  rattle  and  ad- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  191 

justed  his  loops  for  the  fatal  stroke.  His  eyes  were 
drawn  as  with  magnets  toward  the  circles  of  flame. 
His  ears  rung  as  in  the  overture  to  the  swooning 
dream  of  chloroform.  Nature  was  before  man  with 
her  anaesthetics:  the  cat's  first  shake  stupefies  the 
mouse;  the  lion's  first  shake  deadens  the  man's  fear 
and  feeling;  and  the  crotalus  paralyzes  before  he 
strikes.  He  waited  as  in  a  trance, — waited  as  one 
that  longs  to  have  the  blow  fall,  and  all  over,  as  the 
man  who  shall  be  in  two  pieces  in  a  second  waits  for 
the  axe  to  drop.  But  while  he  looked  straight  into 
the  flaming  eyes,  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  were  los 
ing  their  light  and  terror,  that  they  were  growing 
tame  and  dull ;  the  charm  was  dissolving,  the  numb 
ness  was  passing  away,  he  could  move  once  more.  He 
heard  a  light  breathing  close  to  his  ear,  and,  half 
turning,  saw  the  face  of  Elsie  Venner,  looking  mo 
tionless  into  the  reptile's  eyes,  which  had  shrunk  and 
faded  under  the  stronger  enchantment  of  her  own. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

FAMILY   SECRETS. 

IT  was  commonly  understood  in  the  town  of  Rock- 
land  that  Dudley  Venner  had  had  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  with  that  daughter  of  his,  so  handsome,  yet 
so  peculiar,  about  whom  there  were  so  many  strange 
stories.  There  was  no  end  to  the  tales  which  were 
told  of  her  extraordinary  doings.  Yet  her  name  was 
never  coupled  with  that  of  any  youth  or  man,  until 
this  cousin  had  provoked  remark  by  his  visit;  and 
even  then  it  was  oftener  in  the  shape  of  wondering 
conjectures  whether  he  would  dare  to  make  love  to 
her,  than  in  any  pretended  knowledge  of  their  rela 
tions  to  each  other,  that  the  public  tongue  exercised 
its  village-prerogative  of  tattle. 

The  more  common  version  of  the  trouble  at  the 
mansion-house  was  this :  Elsie  was  not  exactly  in  her 
right  mind.  Her  temper  was  singular,  her  tastes 
were  anomalous,  her  habits  were  lawless,  her  antipa 
thies  were  many  and  intense,  and  she  was  liable  to  ex 
plosions  of  ungovernable  anger.  Some  said  that  was 
not  the  worst  of  it.  At  nearly  fifteen  years  old,  when 
she  was  growing  fast,  and  in  an  irritable  state  of  mind 
and  body,  she  had  had  a  governess  placed  over  her 
for  whom  she  had  conceived  an  aversion.  It  was 
whispered  among  a  few  who  knew  more  of  the  family 
secrets  than  others,  that,  worried  and  exasperated  by 
the  presence  and  jealous  oversight  of  this  persont 


ELSIE   VENNER.  193 

Elsie  had  attempted  to  get  finally  rid  of  her  by  un 
lawful  means,  such  as  young  girls  have  been  known 
to  employ  in  their  straits,  and  to  which  the  sex  at  all 
ages  has  a  certain  instinctive  tendency,  in  preference 
to  more  palpable  instruments  for  the  righting  of  its 
wrongs.  At  any  rate,  this  governess  had  been  taken 
suddenly  ill,  and  the  Doctor  had  been  sent  for  at  mid 
night.  Old  Sophy  had  taken  her  master  into  a  room 
apart,  and  said  a  few  words  to  him  which  turned  him 
as  white  as  a  sheet.  As  soon  as  he  recovered  himself, 
he  sent  Sophy  out,  called  in  the  old  Doctor,  and  gave 
him  some  few  hints,  on  which  he  acted  at  once,  and 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  his  patient  out  of  dan 
ger  before  he  left  in  the  morning.  It  is  proper  to 
say,  that,  during  the  following  days,  the  most  thor 
ough  search  was  made  in  every  nook  and  cranny  of 
those  parts  of  the  house  which  Elsie  chiefly  haunted, 
but  nothing  was  found  which  might  be  accused  of 
having  been  the  intentional  cause  of  the  probably 
accidental  sudden  illness  of  the  governess.  From  this 
time  forward  her  father  was  never  easy.  Should  he 
keep  her  apart,  or  shut  her  up,  for  fear  of  risk  to  oth 
ers,  and  so  lose  every  chance  of  restoring  her  mind  to 
its  healthy  tone  by  kindly  influences  and  intercourse 
with  wholesome  natures?  There  was  no  proof,  only 
presumption,  as  to  the  agency  of  Elsie  in  the  matter 
referred  to.  But  the  doubt  was  worse,  perhaps,  than 
certainty  would  have  been,  — for  then  he  would  have 
known  what  to  do. 

He  took  the  old  Doctor  as  his  adviser.  The  shrewd 
old  man  listened  to  the  father's  story,  his  explanations 
of  possibilities,  of  probabilities,  of  dangers,  of  hopes. 
When  he  had  got  through,  the  Doctor  looked  him  in 
the  face  steadily,  as  if  he  were  saying,  Is  that  all  ? 


194  ELSIE   VENNEB. 

The  father's  eyes  fell.  This  was  not  all.  There 
was  something  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul  which  he  could 
not  bear  to  speak  of,  —  nay,  which,  as  often  as  it 
reared  itself  through  the  dark  waves  of  un worded  con 
sciousness  into  the  breathing  air  of  thought,  he  trod 
down  as  the  ruined  angels  tread  down  a  lost  soul 
trying  to  come  up  out  of  the  seething  sea  of  torture. 
Only  this  one  daughter!  No!  God  never  would 
have  ordained  such  a  thing.  There  was  nothing  ever 
heard  of  like  it ;  it  could  not  be ;  she  was  ill,  —  she 
would  outgrow  all  these  singularities ;  he  had  had  an 
aunt  who  was  peculiar ;  he  had  heard  that,  hysteric 
girls  showed  the  strangest  forms  of  moral  obliquity  for 
a  time,  but  came  right  at  last.  She  would  change  all 
at  once,  when  her  health  got  more  firmly  settled  in 
the  course  of  her  growth.  Are  there  not  rough  buds 
that  open  into  sweet  flowers  ?  Are  there  not  fruits, 
which,  while  unripe,  are  not  to  be  tasted  or  endured, 
which  mature  into  the  richest  taste  and  fragrance? 
In  God's  good  time  she  would  come  to  her  true  nature ; 
her  eyes  would  lose  that  frightful,  cold  glitter;  her 
lips  would  not  feel  so  cold  when  she  pressed  them 
against  his  cheek;  and  that  faint  birth-mark,  her 
mother  swooned  when  she  first  saw,  would  fade  wholly 
out,  —  it  was  less  marked,  surely,  now  than  it  used 
to  be! 

So  Dudley  Yenner  felt,  and  would  have  thought,  if 
he  had  let  his  thoughts  breathe  the  air  of  his  soul. 
But  the  Doctor  read  through  words  and  thoughts  and 
all  into  the  father's  consciousness.  There  are  states 
of  mind  which  may  be  shared  by  two  persons  in  pres 
ence  of  each  other,  which  remain  not  only  unworded, 
but  untJioughted,  if  such  a  word  may  be  coined  for 
i.ur  special  need.  Such  a  mutually  interpenetrative 


ELSIE   VENNER.  195 

consciousness  there  was  between  the  father  and  the 
old  physician.  By  a  common  impulse,  both  of  them 
rose  in  a  mechanical  way  and  went  to  the  western 
window,  where  each  started,  as  he  saw  the  other's  look 
directed  towards  the  white  stone  which  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  small  plot  of  green  turf. 

The  Doctor  had,  for  a  moment,  forgotten  himself, 
but  he  looked  up  at  the  clouds,  which  were  angry, 
and  said,  as  if  speaking  of  the  weather,  "It  is  dark 
now,  but  we  hope  it  will  clear  up  by  and  by.  There 
are  a  great  many  more  clouds  than  rains,  and  more 
rains  than  strokes  of  lightning,  and  more  strokes  of 
lightning  than  there  are  people  killed.  We  must  let 
this  girl  of  ours  have  her  way,  as  far  as  it  is  safe. 
Send  away  this  woman  she  hates,  quietly.  Get  her  a 
foreigner  for  a  governess,  if  you  can,  —  one  that  can 
dance  and  sing  and  will  teach  her.  In  the  house  old 
Sophy  will  watch  her  best.  Out  of  it  you  must  trust 
her,  I  am  afraid,  — for  she  will  not  be  followed  round, 
and  she  is  in  less  danger  than  you  think.  If  she  wan 
ders  at  night,  find  her,  if  you  can ;  the  woods  are  not 
absolutely  safe.  If  she  will  be  friendly  with  any 
young  people,  have  them  to  see  her, — young  men, 
especially.  She  will  not  love  any  one  easily,  perhaps 
not  at  all;  yet  love  would  be  more  like  to  bring  her 
right  than  anything  else.  If  any  young  person  seems 
in  danger  of  falling  in  love  with  her,  send  him  to  me 
for  counsel." 

Dry,  hard  advice,  but  given  from  a  kind  heart, 
with  a  moist  eye,  and  in  tones  which  tried  to  be  cheer 
ful  and  were  full  of  sympathy.  This  advice  was  the 
kf  y  to  the  more  than  indulgent  treatment  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  girl  had  received  from  her  father  and 
all  about  her.  The  old  Doctor  often  came  in,  in  the 


196  ELSIE   VENNEE. 

kindest,  most  natural  sort  of  way,  got  into  pleasant 
relations  with  Elsie  by  always  treating  her  in  the  same 
easy  manner  as  at  the  great  party,  encouraging  all  her 
harmless  fancies,  and  rarely  reminding  her  that  he 
was  a  professional  adviser,  except  when  she  came  out 
of  her  own  accord,  as  in  the  talk  they  had  at  the 
party,  telling  him  of  some  wild  trick  she  had  been 
playing. 

"Let  her  go  to  the  girls'  school,  by  all  means," 
said  the  Doctor,  when  she  had  begun  to  talk  about  it. 
"Possibly  she  may  take  to  some  of  the  girls  or  of  the 
teachers.  Anything  to  interest  her.  Friendship,  love, 
religion,  —  whatever  will  set  her  nature  at  work.  We 
must  have  headway  on,  or  there  will  be  no  piloting 
her.  Action  first  of  all,  and  then  we  will  see  what 
to  do  with  it." 

So,  when  Cousin  Richard  came  along,  the  Doctor, 
though  he  did  not  like  his  looks  any  too  well,  told  her 
father  to  encourage  his  staying  for  a  tune.  If  she 
liked  him,  it  was  good;  if  she  only  tolerated  him,  it 
was  better  than  nothing. 

"You  know  something  about  that  nephew  of  yours, 
during  these  last  years,  I  suppose?  "  the  Doctor  said. 
"Looks  as  if  he  had  seen  life.  Has  a  scar  that  was 
made  by  a  sword-cut,  and  a  white  spot  on  the  side  of 
his  neck  that  looks  like  a  bullet-mark.  I  think  he  has 
been  what  folks  call  a  'hard  customer,' ' 

Dudley  Venner  owned  that  he  had  heard  little  or 
nothing  of  him  of  late  years.  He  had  invited  himself, 
and  of  course  it  would  not  be  decent  not  to  receive 
him  as  a  relative.  He  thought  Elsie  rather  liked 
having  him  about  the  house  for  a  while.  She  yas 
very  capricious, —  acted  as  if  she  fancied  him  one 
and  disliked  him  the  next.  He  did  not  know,  — 


ELSIE  VENNER.  197 

sometimes  thought  that  this  nephew  of  his  might  take 
a  serious  liking  to  Elsie.  What  should  he  do  about 
it,  if  it  turned  out  so? 

The  Doctor  lifted  his  eyebrows  a  little.  He 
thought  there  was  no  fear.  Elsie  was  naturally  what 
they  call  a  man-hater,  and  there  was  very  little  dan- 
ger  of  any  sudden  passion  springing  up  between  two 
such  young  persons.  Let  him  stay  awhile;  it  gives 
her  something  to  think  about.  So  he  stayed  awhilef 
as  we  have  seen. 

The  more  Mr.  Richard  became  acquainted  with  the 
family,  —  that  is,  with  the  two  persons  of  whom  it  con 
sisted,  —  the  more  favorably  the  idea  of  a  permanent 
residence  in  the  mansion-house  seemed  to  impress 
him.  The  estate  was  large,  —  hundreds  of  acres,  with 
woodlands  and  meadows  of  great  value.  The  father 
and  daughter  had  been  living  quietly,  and  there  could 
not  be  a  doubt  that  the  property  which  came  through 
the  Dudleys  must  have  largely  increased  of  late  years. 
It  was  evident  enough  that  they  had  an  abundant  in 
come,  from  the  way  in  which  Elsie's  caprices  were  in 
dulged.  She  had  horses  and  carriages  to  suit  herself ; 
she  sent  to  the  great  city  for  everything  she  wanted 
in  the  way  of  dress.  Even  her  diamonds  —  and  the 
young  man  knew  something  about  these  gems  —  must 
be  of  considerable  value ;  and  yet  she  wore  them  care 
lessly,  as  it  pleased  her  fancy.  She  had  precious  old 
laces,  too,  almost  worth  their  weight  in  diamonds,  — 
laces  which  had  been  snatched  from  altars  in  ancient 
Spanish  cathedrals  during  the  wars,  and  which  it 
would  not  be  safe  to  leave  a  duchess  alone  with  for 
ten  minutes.  The  old  house  was  fat  with  the  depos 
its  of  rich  generations  which  had  gone  before.  The 
famous  "golden  "  fire-set  was  a  purchase  of  one  of  the 


198  ELSIE   VENNER. 

family  who  had  been  in  France  during  the  Revolution, 
and  must  have  come  from  a  princely  palace,  if  not 
from  one  of  the  royal  residences.  As  for  silver,  the 
iron  closet  which  had  been  made  in  the  dining-room 
wall  was  running  over  with  it :  tea-kettles,  coffee-pots, 
heavy-lidded  tankards,  chafing-dishes,  punch-bowls, 
all  that  all  the  Dudleys  had  ever  used,  from  the  cau 
dle-cup  which  used  to  be  handed  round  the  young 
mother's  chamber,  and  the  porringer  from  which  chil 
dren  scooped  their  bread-and-milk  with  spoons  as 
solid  as  ingots,  to  that  ominous  vessel,  on  the  upper 
shelf,  far  back  in  the  dark,  with  a  spout  like  a  slender 
italic  £,  out  of  which  the  sick  and  dying,  all  along 
the  last  century,  and  since,  had  taken  the  last  drops 
that  passed  their  lips.  Without  being  much  of  a 
scholar,  Dick  could  see  well  enough,  too,  that  the 
books  in  the  library  had  been  ordered  from  the  greal 
London  houses,  whose  imprint  they  bore,  by  persons 
who  knew  what  was  best  and  meant  to  have  it.  A 
man  does  not  require  much  learning  to  feel  pretty 
sure,  when  he  takes  one  of  those  solid,  smooth,  velvet- 
leaved  quartos,  say  a  Baskerville  Addison,  for  in 
stance,  bound  in  red  morocco,  with  a  margin  of  gold 
as  rich  as  the  embroidery  of  a  prince's  collar,  as  Van- 
dyck  drew  it,  —  he  need  not  know  much  to  feel  pretty 
sure  that  a  score  or  two  of  shelves  full  of  such  books 
mean  that  it  took  a  long  purse,  as  well  as  a  literary 
taste,  to  bring  them  together. 

To  all  these  attractions  the  mind  of  this  thoughtful 
young  gentleman  may  be  said  to  have  been  fully  open. 
He  did  not  disguise  from  himself,  however,  that  there 
were  a  number  of  drawbacks  in  the  way  of  his  becom 
ing  established  as  the  heir  of  the  Dudley  mansion- 
house  and  fortune.  In  the  first  place,  Cousin  Elsie 


ELSIE   VENNER.  199 

was,  unquestionably,  very  piquant,  very  handsome, 
game  as  a  hawk,  and  hard  to  please,  which  made  her 
worth  trying  for.  But  then  there  was  something 
about  Cousin  Elsie,  —  (the  small,  white  scars  began 
stinging,  as  he  said  this  to  himself,  and  he  pushed 
his  sleeve  up  to  look  at  them,)  —  there  was  something 
about  Cousin  Elsie  he  could  n't  make  out.  What  was 
the  matter  with  her  eyes,  that  they  sucked  your  life 
out  of  you  in  that  strange  way?  What  did  she  al 
ways  wear  a  necklace  for?  Had  she  some  such  love- 
token  on  her  neck  as  the  old  Don's  revolver  had  left 
on  his?  How  safe  would  anybody  feel  to  live  with 
her?  Besides,  her  father  would  last  forever,  if  he 
was  left  to  himself.  And  he  may  take  it  into  his 
head  to  marry  again.  That  would  be  pleasant ! 

So  talked  Cousin  Richard  to  himself,  in  the  calm 
of  the  night  and  in  the  tranquillity  of  his  own  soul. 
There  was  much  to  be  said  on  both  sides.  It  was  a 
balance  to  be  struck  after  the  two  columns  were  added 
up.  He  struck  the  balance,  and  came  to  the  conclu 
sion  that  he  would  fall  in  love  with  Elsie  Venner. 

The  intelligent  reader  will  not  confound  this  ma 
tured  and  serious  intention  of  falling  in  love  with  the 
young  lady  with  that  mere  impulse  of  the  moment  be 
fore  mentioned  as  an  instance  of  making  love.  On 
the  contrary,  the  moment  Mr.  Richard  had  made  up 
his  mind  that  he  should  fall  in  love  with  Elsie,  he  be 
gan  to  be  more  reserved  with  her,  and  to  try  to  make 
friends  in  other  quarters!  Sensible  men,  you  know, 
care  very  little  what  a  girl's  present  fancy  is.  The 
question  is :  Who  manages  her,  and  how  can  you  get 
at  that  person  or  those  persons?  Her  foolish  little 
sentiments  are  all  very  well  in  their  way ;  but  business 
is  business,  and  we  can't  stop  for  such  trifles.  The 


200  ELSIE   VENNER. 

old  political  wire-pullers  never  go  near  the  man  thej 
want  to  gain,  if  they  can  help  it ;  they  find  out  who 
his  intimates  and  managers  are,  and  work  through 
them.  Always  handle  any  positively  electrical  body, 
whether  it  is  charged  with  passion  or  power,  with 
some  non-conductor  between  you  and  it,  not  with  your 
naked  hands.  —  The  above  were  some  of  the  young 
gentleman's  working  axioms;  and  he  proceeded  to  act 
in  accordance  with  them. 

He  began  by  paying  his  court  more  assiduously  to 
his  uncle.  It  was  not  very  hard  to  ingratiate  himself 
in  that  quarter;  for  his  manners  were  insinuating, 
and  his  precocious  experience  of  life  made  him  enter 
taining.  The  old  neglected  billiard  -  room  was  soon 
put  in  order,  and  Dick,  who  was  a  magnificent  player, 
had  a  series  of  games  with  his  uncle,  in  which,  singu 
larly  enough,  he  was  beaten,  though  his  antagonist 
had  been  out  of  play  for  years.  He  evinced  a  pro 
found  interest  in  the  family  history,  insisted  on  hav 
ing  the  details  of  its  early  alliances,  and  professed  a 
great  pride  in  it,  which  he  had  inherited  from  his 
father,  who,  though  he  had  allied  himself  with  the 
daughter  of  an  alien  race,  had  yet  chosen  one  with  the 
real  azure  blood  in  her  veins,  as  proud  as  if  she  had 
Castile  and  Aragon  for  her  dower  and  the  Cid  for  her 
grandpapa.  He  also  asked  a  great  deal  of  advice, 
such  as  inexperienced  young  persons  are  in  need  of, 
and  listened  to  it  with  due  reverence. 

It  is  not  very  strange  that  uncle  Dudley  took  a 
kinder  view  of  his  nephew  than  the  Judge,  who 
thought  he  could  read  a  questionable  history  in  his 
face,  —  or  the  old  Doctor,  who  knew  men's  tempera 
ments  and  organizations  pretty  well,  and  had  his  pre 
judices  about  races,  and  could  tell  an  old  sword-cut 


ELSIE   VENNER.  201 

and  a  bullet-mark  in  two  seconds  from  a  scar  got  by 
falling  against  the  fender,  or  a  mark  left  by  king's 
evil.  He  could  not  be  expected  to  share  our  own 
prejudices;  for  he  had  heard  nothing  of  the  wild 
youth's  adventures,  or  his  scamper  over  the  Pampas 
at  short  notice.  So,  then,  "Richard  Venner,  Es 
quire,  guest  of  Dudley  Venner,  Esquire,,  at  his  elegant 
mansion,"  prolonged  his  visit  until  his  presence  be 
came  something  like  a  matter  of  habit,  and  the  neigh 
bors  began  to  think  that  the  fine  old  house  would  be 
illuminated  before  long  for  a  grand  marriage. 

He  had  done  pretty  well  with  the  father :  the  next 
thing  was  to  gain  over  the  nurse.  Old  Sophy  was  as 
cunning  as  a  red  fox  or  a  gray  woodchuck.  She  had 
nothing  in  the  world  to  do  but  to  watch  Elsie;  she 
had  nothing  to  care  for  but  this  girl  and  her  father. 
She  had  never  liked  Dick  too  well;  for  he  used  to 
make  faces  at  her  and  tease  her  when  he  was  a  boy, 
and  now  he  was  a  man  there  was  something  about  him 
—  she  could  not  tell  what  —  that  made  her  suspicious 
of  him.  It  was  no  small  matter  to  get  her  over  to  his 
side. 

The  jet-black  Africans  know  that  gold  never  looks 
so  well  as  on  the  foil  of  their  dark  skins.  Dick  found 
in  his  trunk  a  string  of  gold  beads,  such  as  are  man 
ufactured  in  some  of  our  cities,  which  he  had  brought 
from  the  gold  region  of  Chili,  —  so  he  said,  —  for  the 
express  purpose  of  giving  them  to  old  Sophy.  These 
Africans,  too,  have  a  perfect  passion  for  gay-colored 
clothing;  being  condemned  by  Nature,  as  it  were,  to  a 
perpetual  mourning-suit,  they  love  to  enliven  it  with 
all  sorts  of  variegated  stuffs  of  sprightly  patterns, 
aflame  with  red  and  yellow.  The  considerate  young 
man  had  remembered  this,  too,  and  brought  home  for 


202  ELSIE    VENNER. 

Sophy  some  handkerchiefs  of  rainbow  hues,  which  had 
been  strangely  overlooked  till  now,  at  the  bottom  of 
one  of  his  trunks.  Old  Sophy  took  his  gifts,  but 
kept  her  black  eyes  open  and  watched  every  move 
ment  of  the  young  people  all  the  more  closely.  It 
was  through  her  that  the  father  had  always  known 
most  of  the  actions  and  tendencies  of  his  daughter. 

In  the  mean  time  the  strange  adventure  on  The 
Mountain  had  brought  the  young  master  into  new  re 
lations  with  Elsie.  She  had  led  him  out  of  danger; 
perhaps  saved  him  from  death  by  the  strange  power 
she  exerted.  He  was  grateful,  and  yet  shuddered  at 
the  recollection  of  the  whole  scene.  In  his  dreams  he 
was  pursued  by  the  glare  of  cold  glittering  eyes,  — 
whether  they  were  in  the  head  of  a  woman  01  of  a 
reptile  he  could  not  always  tell,  the  images  had  so  run 
together.  But  he  could  not  help  seeing  that  the  eyes 
of  the  young  girl  had  been  often,  very  often,  turned 
upon  him  when  he  had  been  looking  away,  and  fell  as 
his  own  glance  met  them.  Helen  Darley  told  him 
very  plainly  that  this  girl  was  thinking  about  him 
more  than  about  her  book.  Dick  Venner  found  she 
was  getting  more  constant  in  her  attendance  at  school. 
He  learned,  on  inquiry,  that  there  was  a  new  master, 
a  handsome  young  man.  The  handsome  young  man 
would  not  have  liked  the  look  that  came  over  Dick's 
face  when  he  heard  this  fact  mentioned. 

In  short,  everything  was  getting  tangled  up  to 
gether,  and  there  would  be  no  chance  of  disentangling 
the  threads  in  this  chapter. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

PHYSIOLOGICAL. 

IF  Master  Bernard  felt  a  natural  gratitude  to  Ms 
young  pupil  for  saving  him  from  an  imminent  peril, 
he  was  in  a  state  of  infinite  perplexity  to  know  why  he 
should  have  needed  such  aid.  He,  an  active,  muscu 
lar,  courageous,  adventurous  young  fellow,  with  a 
stick  in  his  hand,  ready  to  hold  down  the  Old  Serpent 
himself,  if  he  had  come  in  his  way,  to  stand  still,  star 
ing  into  those  two  eyes,  until  they  came  up  close  to 
him,  and  the  strange,  terrible  sound  seemed  to  freeze 
him  stiff  where  he  stood,  —  what  was  the  meaning  of 
it?  Again,  what  was  the  influence  this  girl  had  seem 
ingly  exerted,  under  which  the  venomous  creature  had 
collapsed  in  such  a  sudden  way?  Whether  he  had 
been  awake  or  dreaming  he  did  not  feel  quite  sure. 
He  knew  he  had  gone  up  The  Mountain,  at  any  rate ; 
he  knew  he  had  come  down  The  Mountain  with  the 
girl  walking  just  before  him ;  —  there  v/as  no  forget 
ting  her  figure,  as  she  walked  on  in  silence,  her 
braided  locks  falling  a  little,  for  want  of  the  lost  hair 
pin,  perhaps,  and  looking  like  a  wreathing  coil  of  — 
Shame  on  such  fancies !  —  to  wrong  that  supreme 
crowning  gift  of  abounding  Nature,  a  rush  of  shining 
black  hair,  which,  shaken  loose,  would  cloud  her  all 
round,  like  Godiva,  from  brow  to  instep!  He  was 
sure  he  had  sat  down  before  the  fissure  or  cave.  He 
was  sure  that  he  was  led  softly  away  from  the  place, 


204 


ELSIE    VENNER. 


and  that  it  was  Elsie  who  had  led  him.  There  was  the 
hair-pin  to  show  that  so  far  it  was  not  a  dream.  But 
between  these  recollections  came  a  strange  confusion; 
and  the  more  the  master  thought,  the  more  he  was 
perplexed  to  know  whether  she  had  waked  him,  sleep 
ing,  as  he  sat  on  the  stone,  from  some  frightful  dream, 
such  as  may  come  in  a  very  brief  slumber,  or  whether 
she  had  bewitched  him  into  a  trance  with  those  strange 
eyes  of  hers,  or  whether  it  was  all  true,  and  he  must 
solve  its  problem  as  he  best  might. 

There  was  another  recollection  connected  with  this 
mountain  adventure.  As  they  approached  the  man 
sion-house,  they  met  a  young  man,  whom  Mr.  Ber 
nard  remembered  having  seen  once  at  least  before, 
and  whom  he  had  heard  of  as  a  cousin  of  the  young 
girl.  As  Cousin  Richard  Venner,  the  person  in  ques 
tion,  passed  them,  he  took  the  measure,  so  to  speak, 
of  Mr.  Bernard,  with  a  look  so  piercing,  so  exhaust 
ing,  so  practised,  so  profoundly  suspicious,  that  the 
young  master  felt  in  an  instant  that  he  had  an  enemy 
in  this  handsome  youth,  — .  an  enemy,  too,  who  was 
like  to  be  subtle  and  dangerous. 

Mr.  Bernard  had  made  up  his  mind,  that,  come 
what  might,  enemy  or  no  enemy,  live  or  die,  he  would 
solve  the  mystery  of  Elsie  Venner,  sooner  or  later. 
He  was  not  a  man  to  be  frightened  out  of  his  resolu 
tion  by  a  scowl,  or  a  stiletto,  or  any  unknown  means 
of  mischief,  of  which  a  whole  armory  was  hinted  at 
in  that  passing  look  Dick  Venner  had  given  him. 
Indeed,  like  most  adventurous  young  persons,  he 
found  a  kind  of  charm  in  feeling  that  there  might  be 
some  dangers  in  the  way  of  his  investigations.  Some 
rumors  which  had  reached  him  about  the  supposed 
suitor  of  Elsie  Venner,  who  was  thought  to  be  a  des* 


VENNER.  205 

perate  kind  of  fellow,  and  whom  some  believed  to  be 
an  unscrupulous  adventurer,  added  a  curious,  roman 
tic  kind  of  interest  to  the  course  of  physiological  and 
psychological  inquiries  he  was  about  instituting. 

The  afternoon  on  The  Mountain  was  still  uppermost 
in  his  mind.  Of  course  he  knew  the  common  stories 
about  fascination.  He  had  once  been  himself  an  eye 
witness  of  the  charming  of  a  small  bird  by  one  of  our 
common  harmless  serpents.  Whether  a  human  being 
could  be  reached  by  this  subtile  agency,  he  had  been 
skeptical,  notwithstanding  the  mysterious  relation 
generally  felt  to  exist  between  man  and  this  creature, 
"cursed  above  all  cattle  and  above  every  beast  of  the 
field,"  —  a  relation  which  some  interpret  as  the  fruit 
of  the  curse,  and  others  hold  to  be  so  instinctive  that 
this  animal  has  been  for  that  reason  adopted  as  the 
natural  symbol  of  evil.  There  was  another  solution, 
however,  supplied  him  by  his  professional  reading. 
The  curious  work  of  Mr.  Braid  of  Manchester  had 
made  him  familiar  with  the  phenomena  of  a  state  al 
lied  to  that  produced  by  animal  magnetism,  and 
called  by  that  writer  by  the  name  of  hypnotism.  He 
found,  by  referring  to  his  note-book,  the  statement 
was,  that,  by  fixing  the  eyes  on  a  bright  object  so 
placed  as  to  produce  a  strain  upon  ,the  eyes  and  eye 
lids,  and  to  maintain  a  steady  fixed  stare,  there  comes 
on  in  a  few  seconds  a  very  singular  condition,  charac 
terized  by  muscular  rigidity  and  inability  to  move, 
with  a  strange  exaltation  of  most  of  the  senses,  and 
generally  a  closure  of  the  eyelids,  —  this  condition 
being  followed  by  torpor. 

Now  this  statement  of  Mr.  Braid's,  well  known  to 
the  scientific  world,  and  the  truth  of  which  had  been 
confirmed  by  Mr.  Bernard  in  certain  experiments  he 


206  ELSIE   VENNER. 

had  instituted,  as  it  has  been  by  many  other  experi 
menters,  went  far  to  explain  the  strange  impressions, 
of  which,  waking  or  dreaming,  he  had  certainly  been 
the  subject.  His  nervous  system  had  been  in  a  high 
state  of  exaltation  at  the  time.  He  remembered  how 
the  little  noises  that  made  rings  of  sound  in  the  silence 
of  the  woods,  like  pebbles  dropped  in  still  waters,  had 
reached  his  inner  consciousness.  He  remembered  that 
singular  sensation  in  the  roots  of  the  hair,  when  he 
came  on  the  traces  of  the  girl's  presence,  reminding 
him  of  a  line  in  a  certain  poem  which  he  had  read 
lately  with  a  new  and  peculiar  interest.  He  even  re 
called  a  curious  evidence  of  exalted  sensibility  and 
irritability,  in  the  twitching  of  the  minute  muscles  of 
the  internal  ear  at  every  unexpected  sound,  producing 
an  odd  little  snap  in  the  middle  of  the  head,  which 
proved  to  him  that  he  was  getting  very  nervous. 

The  next  thing  was  to  find  out  whether  it  were  pos 
sible  that  the  venomous  creature's  eyes  should  have 
served  the  purpose  of  Mr.  Braid's  "bright  object" 
held  very  close  to  the  person  experimented  on,  or 
whether  they  had  any  special  power  which  could  be 
made  the  subject  of  exact  observation. 

For  this  purpose  Mr.  Bernard  considered  it  neces 
sary  to  get  a  live  crotalus  or  two  into  his  possession, 
if  this  were  possible.  On  inquiry,  he  found  that 
there  was  a  certain  family  living  far  up  the  mountain 
side,  not  a  mile  from  the  ledge,  the  members  of  which 
were  said  to  have  taken  these  creatures  occasionally, 
and  not  to  be  in  any  danger,  or  at  least  in  any  fear, 
of  being  injured  by  them.  He  applied  to  these  peo 
ple,  and  offered  a  reward  sufficient  to  set  them  at  work 
to  capture  some  of  these  animals,  if  such  a  thing  were  i 
possible. 


ELSIE  TENNER.  207 

A  few  days  after  this,  a  dark,  gypsy -looking  woman 
presented  herself  at  his  door.  She  held  up  her  apron 
as  if  it  contained  something  precious  in  the  bag  she 
made  with  it. 

"  Y'  wanted  some  rattlers,"  said  the  woman.  "Here 
they  be." 

She  opened  her  apron  and  showed  a  coil  of  rattle 
snakes  lying  very  peaceably  in  its  fold.  They  lifted 
their  heads  up,  as  if  they  wanted  to  see  what  was 
going  on,  but  showed  no  sign  of  anger. 

"Are  you  crazy?"  said  Mr.  Bernard.  "You're 
dead  in  an  hour,  if  one  of  those  creatures  strikes  you ! " 

He  drew  back  a  little,  as  he  spoke;  it  might  be 
simple  disgust;  it  might  be  fear;  it  might  be  what 
we  call  antipathy,  which  is  different  from  either,  and 
which  will  sometimes  show  itself  in  paleness,  and 
even  faintness,  produced  by  objects  perfectly  harm 
less  and  not  in  themselves  offensive  to  any  sense. 

"Lord  bless  you,"  said  the  woman,  "rattlers  never 
touches  our  folks.  I  'd  jest  'z  lieves  handle  them 
creaturs  as  so  many  striped  snakes."  . 

So  saying,  she  put  their  heads  down  with  her  hand, 
and  packed  them  together  in  her  apron  as  if  they  had 
been  bits  of  cart-rope. 

Mr.  Bernard  had  never  heard  of  the  power,  or,  at 
least,  the  belief  in  the  possession  of  a  power  by  certain 
persons,  which  enables  them  to  handle  these  frightful 
reptiles  with  perfect  impunity.  The  fact,  however, 
is  well  known  to  others,  and  more  especially  to  a  very 
distinguished  Professor  in  one  of  the  leading  institu 
tions  of  the  great  city  of  the  land,  whose  experiences 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Gray  lock,  as  he  will  doubtless 
inform  the  curious,  were  very  much  like  those  of  the 
young  master. 


208  ELSIE  VENNER. 

Mr.  Bernard  had  a  wired  cage  ready  for  his  formid 
able  captives,  and  studied  their  habits  and  expression 
with  a  strange  sort  of  interest.  What  did  the  Crea 
tor  mean  to  signify,  when  he  made  such  shapes  of 
horror,  and,  as  if  he  had  doubly  cursed  this  envenomed 
wretch,  had  set  a  mark  upon  him  and  sent  him  forth, 
the  Cain  of  the  brotherhood  of  serpents?  It  was  a 
very  curious  fact  that  the  first  train  of  thoughts  Mr. 
Bernard's  small  menagerie  suggested  to  him  was  the 
grave,  though  somewhat  worn,  subject  of  the  origin  of 
evil.  There  is  now  to  be  seen  in  a  tall  glass  jar,  in 
the  Museum  of  Comparative  Anatomy  at  Cantabridge 
in  the  territory  of  the  Massachusetts,  a  huge  crotalus, 
of  a  species  which  grows  to  more  frightful  dimensions 
than  our  own,  under  the  hotter  skies  of  South  Amer 
ica.  Look  at  it,  ye  who  would  know  what  is  the  tol 
erance,  the  freedom  from  prejudice,  which  can  suffer 
such  an  incarnation  of  all  that  is  devilish  to  lie  un 
harmed  in  the  cradle  of  Nature!  Learn,  too,  that 
there  are  many  things  in  this  world  which  we  are 
warned  to  shun,  and  are  even  suffered  to  slay,  if  need 
i  be,  but  which  we  must  not  hate,  unless  we  would  hate/ 
what  God  loves  and  cares  for. 

Whatever  fascination  the  creature  might  exercise 
in  his  native  haunts,  Mr.  Bernard  found  himself  not 
in  the  least  nervous  or  affected  in  any  way  while  look 
ing  at  his  caged  reptiles.  When  their  cage  was 
shaken,  they  would  lift  their  heads  and  spring  their 
rattles ;  but  the  sound  was  by  no  means  so  formidable 
to  listen  to  as  when  it  reverberated  among  the  chasms 
of  the  echoing  rocks.  The  expression  of  the  crea 
tures  was  watchful,  still,  grave,  passionless,  fate-like, 
suggesting  a  cold  malignity  which  seemed  to  be  wait 
ing  for  its  opportunity.  Their  awful,  deep-cut  mouths 


ELSIE   VENNER.  209 

were  sternly  closed  over  the  long  hollow  fangs  which 
rested  their  roots  against  the  swollen  poison-gland, 
where  the  venom  had  been  hoarding  up  ever  since  the 
last  stroke  had  emptied  it.  They  never  winked,  for 
ophidians  have  no  movable  eyelids,  but  kept  up  that 
awful  fixed  stare  which  made  the  two  unwinking  glad 
iators  the  survivors  of  twenty  pairs  matched  by  one  of 
the  Roman  Emperors,  as  Pliny  tells  us,  in  his  "Nat 
ural  History."  Their  eyes  did  not  flash,  but  shone 
with  a  cold  still  light.  They  were  of  a  pale-golden 
or  straw  color,  horrible  to  look  into,  with  their  stony 
calmness,  their  pitiless  indifference,  hardly  enlivened 
by  the  almost  imperceptible  vertical  slit  of  the  pupil, 
through  which  Death  seemed  to  be  looking  out  like 
the  archer  behind  the  long  narrow  loop-hole  in  a  blank 
turret-wall.  On  the  whole,  the  caged  reptiles,  horrid 
as  they  were,  hardly  matched  his  recollections  of  what 
he  had  seen  or  dreamed  he  saw  at  the  cavern.  These 
looked  dangerous  enough,  but  yet  quiet.  A  treacher 
ous  stillness,  however,  —  as  the  unfortunate  New  York 
physician  found,  when  he  put  his  foot  out  to  wake  up 
the  torpid  creature,  and  instantly  the  fang  flashed 
ough  his  boot,  carrying  the  poison  into  his  blood, 
d  death  with  it. 

Mr.    Bernard  kept   these   strange   creatures,   and 
,tched  all  their  habits  with  a  natural  curiosity.     In 
y  collection  of  animals   the  venomous   beasts   are 
.ooked  at  with  the  greatest  interest,  just  as  the  great-  . 
est  villains  are  most  run  after  by  the  unknown  public.  ) 
Nobody  troubles  himself  for  a  common  striped  snake 
or  a  petty  thief,  but  a  cobra  or  a  wife-killer  is  a  centre 
of  attraction  to  all  eyes.     These  captives  did  very  lit 
tle  to  earn  their  living,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  their 
living  was  not  expensive,  their  diet  being  nothing  but 


210  ELSIE   VENNER. 

air,  au  naturel.  Months  and  months  these  creatures 
will  live  and  seem  to  thrive  well  enough,  as  any  show 
man  who  has  them  in  his  menagerie  will  testify,  though 
they  never  touch  anything  to  eat  or  drink. 

In  the  mean  tune  Mr.  Bernard  had  become  very 
,  curious  about  a  class  of  subjects  not  treated  of  in  any 
detail  in  those  text-books  accessible  in  most  country- 
towns,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  more  special  treatises, 
and  especially  of  the  rare  and  ancient  works  found  on 
the  shelves  of  the  larger  city -libraries.  He  was  on  a 
visit  to  old  Dr.  Kittredge  one  day,  having  been  asked 
by  him  to  call  in  for  a  few  moments  as  soon  as  con 
venient.  The  Doctor  smiled  good-humoredly  when  he 
asked  him  if  he  had  an  extensive  collection  of  medical 
works. 

"Why,  no,"  said  the  old  Doctor,  "I  haven't  got  a 
great  many  printed  books ;  and  what  I  have  I  don't 
read  quite  as  often  as  I  might,  I  'm  afraid.  I  read 
and  studied  in  the  time  of  it,  when  I  was  in  the  midst 
of  the  young  men  who  were  all  at  work  with  their 
books;  but  it 's  a  mighty  hard  matter,  when  you  go 
off  alone  into  the  country,  to  keep  up  with  all  that  'a 
going  on  in  the  Societies  and  the  Colleges.  I  '11  tell 
you,  though,  Mr.  Langdon,  when  a  man  that 's  once 
started  right  lives  among  sick  folks  for  five-and-thirty 
years,  as  I  've  done,  if  he  has  n't  got  a  library  of  five- 
and-thirty  volumes  bound  up  in  his  head  at  the  end 
of  that  time,  he  'd  better  stop  driving  round  and  sell 
his  horse  and  sulky.  I  know  the  bigger  part  of  the 
families  within  a  dozen  miles'  ride.  I  know  the  fam 
ilies  that  have  a  way  of  living  through  everything, 
and  I  know  the  other  set  that  have  the  trick  of  dying 
without  any  kind  of  reason  for  it.  I  know  the  years 
when  the  fevers  and  dysenteries  are  in  earnest,  and 


*;L,SIE  VENNER.  211 

when  they  're  only  making  believe.  I  know  the  folks 
that  think  they  're  dying  as  soon  as  they  're  sick,  and 
the  folks  that  never  find  out  they  're  sick  till  they  're 
dead.  I  don't  want  to  undervalue  your  science,  Mr. 
Langdon.  There  are  things  I  never  learned,  because 
they  came  in  after  my  day,  and  I  am  very  glad  to  send 
my  patients  to  those  that  do  know  them,  when  I  am 
at  fault ;  but  I  know  these  people  about  here,  fathers 
and  mothers,  and  children  and  grandchildren,  so  as 
all  the  science  in  the  world  can't  know  them,  without 
it  takes  time  about  it,  and  sees  them  grow  up  and 
grow  old,  and  how  the  wear  and  tear  of  life  comes  to 
them.  You  can't  tell  a  horse  by  driving  him  once, 
Mr.  Langdon,  nor  a  patient  by  talking  half  an  hour 
with  him." 

"Do  you  know  much  about  the  Venner  family?" 
said  Mr.  Bernard,  in  a  natural  way  enough,  the  Doc 
tor's  talk  having  suggested  the  question. 

The  Doctor  lifted  his  head  with  his  accustomed 
movement,  so  as  to  command  the  young  man  through 
his  spectacles. 

"I  know  all  the  families  of  this  place  and  its  neigh 
borhood,"  he  answered. 

"We  have  the  young  lady  studying  with  us  at  the 
Institute,"  said  Mr.  Bernard. 

"I  know  it,"  the  Doctor  answered.  "Is  she  a  good 
scholar?" 

All  this  time  the  Doctor's  eyes  were  fixed  steadily 
on  Mr.  Bernard,  looking  through  the  glasses. 

"She  is  a  good  scholar  enough,  but  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  her.  Sometimes  I  think  she  is  a  lit 
tle  out  of  her  head.  Her  father,  I  believe,  is  sensi 
ble  enough ;  —  what  sort  of  a  woman  was  her  mother, 
Doctor?  —  I  suppose,  of  course,  you  remember  all 
about  her?  " 


212  ELSIE  VENNER. 

"Yes,  I  knew  her  mother.  She  was  a  very  lovely 
young  woman."  —  The  Doctor  put  his  hand  to  his 
forehead  and  drew  a  long  breath.  — "What  is  there 
you  notice  out  of  the  way  about  Elsie  Venner?  " 

"A  good  many  things,"  the  master  answered. 
"She  shuns  all  the  other  girls.  She  is  getting  a 
strange  influence  over  my  fellow-teacher,  a  young 
lady,  —  you  know  Miss  Helen  Darley,  perhaps  ?  I  am 
afraid  this  girl  will  kill  her.  I  never  saw  or  heard  of 
anything  like  it,  in  prose  at  least ;  —  do  you  remember 
much  of  Coleridge's  Poems,  Doctor?" 

The  good  old  Doctor  had  to  plead  a  negative. 

"Well,  no  matter.  Elsie  would  have  been  burned 
for  a  witch  in  old  times.  I  have  seen  the  girl  look  at 
Miss  Darley  when  she  had  not  the  least  idea  of  it, 
and  all  at  once  I  would  see  her  grow  pale  and  moist, 
and  sigh,  and  move  round  uneasily,  and  turn  towards 
Elsie,  and  perhaps  get  up  and  go  to  her,  or  else  have 
slight  spasmodic  movements  that  looked  like  hysterics ; 
—  do  you  believe  in  the  evil  eye,  Doctor?  " 

"Mr.  Langdon,"  the  Doctor  said,  solemnly,  "there 
are  strange  things  about  Elsie  Venner,  —  very  strange 
things.  This  was  what  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you 
about.  Let  me  advise  you  all  to  be  very  patient  with 
the  girl,  but  also  very  careful.  Her  love  is  not  to  be 
desired,  and  "  —  he  spoke  in  a  lower  tone  —  "  her  hate 
is  to  be  dreaded.  Do  you  think  she  has  any  special 
fancy  for  anybody  else  in  the  school  besides  Miss 
Darley?" 

Mr.  Bernard  could  not  stand  the  old  Doctor's  spec 
tacled  eyes  without  betraying  a  little  of  the  feeling 
natural  to  a  young  man  to  whom  a  home  question  in 
volving  a  possible  sentiment  is  put  suddenly. 

'I  have  suspected,"  he  said,  —  "I  have  had  a  kind 


ELSIE  VENNER.  213 

of  feeling  —  that  she  —  Well,  come,  Doctor,  —  I 
don't  know  that  there  '«  any  use  in  disguising  the 
matter,  —  I  have  thought  Elsie  Venner  had  rather  a 
fancy  for  somebody  else,  — I  mean  myself." 

There  was  something  so  becoming  in  the  blush  with 
which  the  young  man  made  this  confession,  and  so 
manly,  too,  in  the  tone  with  which  he  spoke,  so  re 
mote  from  any  shallow  vanity,  such  as  young  men  who 
are  incapable  of  love  are  apt  to  feel,  when  some  loose 
tendril  of  a  woman's  fancy  which  a  chance  wind  has 
blown  against  them  twines  about  them  for  the  want 
of  anything  better,  that  the  old  Doctor  looked  at  him 
admiringly,  and  could  not  help  thinking  that  it  was 
no  wonder  any  young  girl  should  be  pleased  with  him. 

"You  are  a  man  of  nerve,  Mr.  Langdon?  "  said 
the  Doctor. 

"I  thought  so  till  veiy  lately,"  he  replied.  "I  am 
not  easily  frightened,  but  I  don't  know  but  I  might 
be  bewitched  or  magnetized,  or  whatever  it  is  when 
one  is  tied  up  and  cannot  move.  I  think  I  can  find 
nerve  enough,  however,  if  there  is  any  special  use  you 
want  to  put  it  to." 

"Let  me  ask  you  one  more  question,  Mr.  Langdon. 
Do  you  find  yourself  disposed  to  take  a  special  inter 
est  in  Elsie,  —  to  fall  in  love  with  her,  in  a  word? 
Pardon  me,  for  I  do  not  ask  from  curiosity,  but  a 
much  more  serious  motive." 

"Elsie  interests  me,"  said  the  young  man,  "inter 
ests  me  strangely.  She  has  a  wild  flavor  in  her  char 
acter  which  is  wholly  different  from  that  of  any  human 
creature  I  ever  saw.  She  has  marks  of  genius,  — 
poetic  or  dramatic, —  I  hardly  know  which.  She  read 
a  passage  from  Keats 's  'Lamia  '  the  other  day,  in  the 
schoolroom,  in  such  a  way  that  I  declare  to  you  I 


214  ELSIE  VENNER. 

thought  some  of  the  girls  would  faint  or  go  into  fits. 
Miss  Darley  got  up  and  left  the  room,  trembling  all 
over.  Then  I  pity  her,  she  is  so  lonely.  The  girls 
are  afraid  of  her,  and  she  seems  to  have  either  a  dis 
like  or  a  fear  of  them.  They  have  all  sorts  of  painful 
stories  about  her.  They  give  her  a  name  which  no 
human  creature  ought  to  bear.  They  say  she  hides  a 
mark  on  her  neck  by  always  wearing  a  necklace.  She 
is  very  graceful,  you  know,  and  they  will  have  it  that 
she  can  twist  herself  into  all  sorts  of  shapes,  or  tie 
herself  in  a  knot,  if  she  wants  to.  There  is  not  one 
of  them  that  will  look  her  in  the  eyes.  I  pity  the 
poor  girl;  but,  Doctor,  I  do  not  love  her.  I  would 
risk  my  life  for  her,  if  it  would  do  her  any  good,  but 
it  would  be  in  cold  blood.  If  her  hand  touches  mine, 
it  is  not  a  thrill  of  passion  I  feel  running  through 
me,  but  a  very  different  emotion.  Oh,  Doctor !  there 
must  be  something  in  that  creature's  blood  which  has 
killed  the  humanity  in  her.  God  only  knows  the 
cause  that  has  blighted  such  a  soul  in  so  beautiful  a 
body!  No,  Doctor,  I  do  not  love  the  girl." 

"Mr.  Langdon,"  said  the  Doctor,  "you  are  young, 
and  I  am  old.  Let  me  talk  to  you  with  an  old  man's 
privilege,  as  an  adviser.  You  have  come  to  this  coun 
try-town  without  suspicion,  and  you  are  moving  in  the 
midst  of  perils.  There  are  things  which  I  must  not 
tell  you  now ;  but  I  may  warn  you.  Keep  your  eyes 
open  and  your  heart  shut.  If,  through  pitying  that 
girl,  you  ever  come  to  love  her,  you  are  lost.  If  you 
deal  carelessly  with  her,  beware!  This  is  not  all. 
There  are  other  eyes  on  you  beside  Elsie  Vernier's.  — • 
Do  you  go  armed?  " 

"I  do!"  said  Mr.  Bernard, — and  he  "put  his 
hands  up  "  in  the  shape  of  fists,  in  such  a  way  as  to 


ELSIE   VENNER.  215 

show  that  he  was  master  of  the  natural  weapons  at  any 
t.-ate. 

The  Doctor  could  not  help  smiling.  But  his  face 
L'ell  in  an  instant. 

"You  may  want  something  more  than  those  tools  to 
york  with.  Come  with  me  into  my  sanctum." 

The  Doctor  led  Mr.  Bernard  into  a  small  room 
opening  out  of  the  study.  It  was  a  place  such  as  any- 
jody  but  a  medical  man  would  shiver  to  enter.  There 
;vas  the  usual  tall  box  with  its  bleached,  rattling  ten 
ant;  there  were  jars  in  rows  where  "interesting  cases" 
outlived  the  grief  of  widows  and  heirs  in  alcoholic  im- 
snortality, — for  your  "preparation -jar"  is  the  true 
i;'  monumentum  cere  perennius;"  there  were  various 
^impossibilities  of  minute  dimensions  and  unpromis- 
,  ing  developments ;  there  were  shining  instruments  of 
;3vil  aspect,  and  grim  plates  on  the  walls,  and  on  one 
shelf  by  itself,  accursed  and  apart,  coiled  in  a  long 
sylinder  of  spirit,  a  huge  crotalus,  rough-scaled,  flat- 
headed,  variegated  with  dull  bands,  one  of  which  par 
tially  encircled  the  neck  like  a  collar,  —  an  awful 
wretch  to  look  upon,  with  murder  written  all  over  him 
in  horrid  hieroglyphics.  Mr.  Bernard's  look  was  riv 
eted  on  this  creature,  —  not  fascinated  certainly,  for 
its  eyes  looked  like  white  beads,  being  clouded  by  the 
action  of  the  spirits  in  which  it  had  been  long  kept, 
—  but  fixed  by  some  indefinite  sense  of  the  renewal 
of  a  previous  impression ;  —  everybody  knows  the  feel 
ing,  with  its  suggestion  of  some  past  state  of  existence. 
There  was  a  scrap  of  paper  on  the  jar,  with  something 
written  on  it.  He  was  reaching  up  to  read  it  when  the 
Doctor  touched  him  lightly. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Langdon!  "  he  said,  with  a  cer 
tain  vivacity  of  manner,  as  if  wishing  to  call  away  his 
attention,  —  "this  is  my  armory." 


216  ELSIE   VENNEE. 

The  Doctor  threw  open  the  door  of  a  small  cabinet, 
where  were  disposed  in  artistic  patterns  various  weap 
ons  of  offence  and  defence,  —  for  he  was  a  virtuoso 
in  his  way,  and  by  the  side  of  the  implements  of  the 
art  of  healing  had  pleased  himself  with  displaying  a 
collection  of  those  other  instruments,  the  use  of  which 
renders  the  first  necessary. 

"  See  which  of  these  weapons  you  would  like  best  to 
carry  about  you,"  said  the  Doctor. 

Mr.  Bernard  laughed,  and  looked  at  the  Doctor 
if  he  half  doubted  whether  he  was  in  earnest. 

"This  looks  dangerous  enough,"  he  said,  —  "for 
the  man  who  carries  it,  at  least." 

He  took  down  one  of  the  prohibited  Spanish  dag 
gers  or  knives  which  a  traveller  may  occasionally  get 
hold  of  and  smuggle  out  of  the  country.  The  blade 
was  broad,  trowel-like,  but  the  point  drawn  out  sev 
eral  inches,  so  as  to  look  like  a  skewer. 

"This  must  be  a  jealous  bull-fighter's  weapon,' 
he  said,  and  put  it  back  in  its  place. 

Then  he  took  down  an  ancient-looking  broad-bladec 
dagger,  with  a  complex  aspect  about  it,  as  if  it  he 
some  kind  of  mechanism  connected  with  it. 

"Take  care!  "  said  the  Doctor;  "there  is  a  trick 
that  dagger." 

He  took  it  and  touched  a  spring.  The  dagger  split 
suddenly  into  three  blades,  as  when  one  separates  the 
forefinger  and  the  ring-finger  from  the  middle  one. 
The  outside  blades  were  sharp  on  their  outer  edge. 
The  stab  was  to  be  made  with  the  dagger  shut,  the 
the  spring  touched  and  the  split  blades  withdrawn. 
(^  Mr.  Bernard  replaced  it,  saying,  that  it  would  have 
served  for  side-arm  to  old  Suwarrow,  who  told 
men  to  work  their  bayonets  back  and  forward  when 


ELSIE   VENNER.  217 

they  pinned  a  Turk,  but  to  wriggle  them  about  in  the 
wound  when  they  stabbed  a  Frenchman.  > 

"Here,"  said  the  Doctor,  "this  is  the  thing  you 
want." 

He  took  down  a  much  more  modern  and  familiar 
implement,  —  a  small,  beautifully  finished  revolver. 

"I  want  you  to  carry  this,"  he  said;  "and  more 
than  that,  I  want  you  to  practise  with  it  often,  as  for 
amusement,  but  so  that  it  may  be  seen  and  understood 
that  you  are  apt  to  have  a  pistol  about  you.  Pistol- 
shooting  is  pleasant  sport  enough,  and  there  is  no  rea 
son  why  you  should  not  practise  it  like  other  young 
fellows.  And  now,"  the  Doctor  said,  "I  have  one 
other  weapon  to  give  you." 

He  took  a  small  piece  of  parchment  and  shook  a 
white  powder  into  it  from  one  of  his  medicine- jars. 
The  jar  was  marked  with  the  name  of  a  mineral  salt, 
of  a  nature  to  have  been  serviceable  in  case  of  sudden 
illness  in  the  time  of  the  Borgias.  The  Doctor  folded 
the  parchment  carefully,  and  marked  the  Latin  name 
of  the  powder  upon  it. 

"Here,"  he  said,  handing  it  to  Mr.  Bernard, — 
"you  see  what  it  is,  and  you  know  what  service  it  can 
render.  Keep  these  two  protectors  about  your  person 
day  and  night ;  they  will  not  harm  you,  and  you  may 
want  one  or  the  other  or  both  before  you  think  of  it." 

Mr.  Bernard  thought  it  was  very  odd,  and  not  very 
old-gentlemanlike,  to  be  fitting  him  out  for  treason, 
stratagem,  and  spoils,  in  this  way.  There  was  no 
harm,  however,  in  carrying  a  doctor's  powder  in  his 
pocket,  or  in  amusing  himself  with  shooting  at  a 
mark,  as  he  had  often  done  before.  If  the  old  gen 
tleman  had  these  fancies,  it  was  as  well  to  humor  him. 


218 


ELSIE    VENNER. 


So  he  thanked  old  Doctor  Kittredge,  and  shook  his 
hand  warmly  as  he  left  him. 

"The  fellow's  hand  did  not  tremble,  nor  his  color 
change,"  the  Doctor  said,  as  he  watched  him  walking 
away.  "He  is  one  of  the  right  sort." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

EPISTOLARY. 

Mr.  Langdon  to  the  Professor. 

Y  DEAR  PROFESSOR,  —     • 

You  were  kind  enough  to  promise  me  that  you 
would  assist  me  in  any  professional  or  scientific  inves 
tigations  in  which  I  might  become  engaged.  I  have 
of  late  become  deeply  interested  in  a  class  of  subjects 
which  present  peculiar  difficulty,  and  I  must  exercise 
the  privilege  of  questioning  you  on  some  points  upon 
which  I  desire  information  I  cannot  otherwise  obtain. 
I  would  not  trouble  you,  if  I  could  find  any  person  or 
books  competent  to  enlighten  me  on  some  of  these 
singular  matters  which  have  so  excited  me.  The 
leading  doctor  here  is  a  shrewd,  sensible  man,  but  not 
versed  in  the  curiosities  of  medical  literature. 

I  proceed,  with  your  leave,  to  ask  a  considerable 
number  of  questions,  —  hoping  to  get  answers  to  some 
of  them,  at  least. 

Is  there  any  evidence  that  human  beings  can  be          \ 
infected  or  wrought  upon  by  poisons,  or  otherwise,  so 
that  they  shall  manifest  any  of  the  peculiarities  belong 
ing  to  beings  of  a  lower  nature?     Can  such  peculiari 
ties  be  transmitted  by  inheritance  ?     Is  there  anything 
to  countenance  the  -stories,  long  and  widely  current, 
about  the  "evil  eye  "?  or  is  it  a  mere  fancy  that  such     . 
a  power  belongs  to  any  human  being  ?     Have  you  any 
personal  experience  as  to  the  power  of  fascination  said 

J 


220  ELSIE    VENNEK. 

to  be  exercised  by  certain  animals  ?  What  can  you 
make  of  those  circumstantial  statements  we  have  seen 
in  the  papers,  of  children  forming  mysterious  friend 
ships  with  ophidians  of  different  species,  sharing  their 
food  with  them,  and  seeming  to  be  under  some  subtile 
influence  exercised  by  those  creatures?  Have  you 
read,  critically,  Coleridge's  poem  of  "Christabel," 
and  Keats 's  "Lamia"?  If  so,  can  you  understand 
them,  or  find  any  physiological  foundation  for  the 
story  of  either? 

There  is  another  set  of  questions  of  a  different  na 
ture  I  should  like  to  ask,  but  it  is  hardly  fair  to  put  so 
many  on  a  single  sheet.  There  is  one,  however,  you 
must  answer.  Do  you  think  there  may  be  predispo 
sitions,  inherited  or  ingrafted,  but  at  any  rate  con 
stitutional,  which  shall  take  out  certain  apparently 
voluntary  determinations  from  the  control  of  the  will, 
and  leave  them  as  free  from  moral  responsibility  as 
the  instincts  of  the  lower  animals  ?  Do  you  not  think 
there  may  be  a  crime  which  is  not  a  sin  ? 

Pardon  me,  my  dear  Sir,  for  troubling  you  with 
such  a  list  of  notes  of  interrogation.  There  are  some 
very  strange  things  going  on  here  in  this  place,  coun 
try-town  as  it  is.  Country -life  is  apt  to  be  dull ;  but 
/when  it  once  gets  going,  it  beats  the  city  hollow,  be- 
i  cause  it  gives  its  whole  mind  to  what  it  is  about. 
These  rural  sinners  make  terrible  work  with  the  mid 
dle  of  the  Decalogue,  when  they  get  started.  How 
ever,  I  hope  I  shall  live  through  my  year's  school- 
keeping  without  catastrophes,  though  there  are  queer 
doings  about  me  which  puzzle  me  and  might  scare 
some  people.  If  anything  should  happen,  you  will  be 
one  of  the  first  to  hear  of  it,  no  doubt.  But  I  trust 
not  to  help  out  the  editors  of  the  "Rockland  Weekly 


ELSIE  VENNER.  221 

Universe  "  with  an  obituary  of  the  late  lamented,  who 
signed  himself  in  life 

Your  friend  and  pupil, 

BERNARD  C.  LANGDON. 

The  Professor  to  Mr.  Lang  don. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  LANGDON,  — 

I  do  not  wonder  that  you  find  no  answer  from  your 
country  friends  to  the  curious  questions  you  put. 
They  belong  to  that  middle  region  between  science 
and  poetry  which  sensible  men,  as  they  are  called,  are 
very  shy  of  meddling  with.  Some  people  think  that 
truth  and  gold  are  always  to  be  washed  for ;  but  the 
wiser  sort  are  of  opinion,  that,  unless  there  are  so 
many  grains  to  the  peck  of  sand  or  nonsense  respec 
tively,  it  does  not  pay  to  wash  for  either,  so  long  as 
one  can  find  anything  else  to  do.  I  don't  doubt  there 
is  some  truth  in  the  phenomena  of  animal  magnetism, 
for  instance ;  but  when  you  ask  me  to  cradle  for  it,  I 
tell  you  that  the  hysteric  girls  cheat  so,  and  the  pro 
fessionals  are  such  a  set  of  pickpockets,  that  I  can  do 
something  better  than  hunt  for  the  grains  of  truth 
among  their  tricks  and  lies.  Do  you  remember  what 
I  used  to  say  in  my  lectures  ?  —  or  were  you  asleep  just 
then,  or  cutting  your  initials  on  the  rail?  (You  see  I 
can  ask  questions,  my  young  friend.)  Leverage  is 
everything,  — was  what  I  used  to  say;  —  don't  begin 
to  pry  till  you  have  got  the  long  arm  on  your  side. 

To  please  you,  and  satisfy  your  doubts  as  far  as 
possible,  I  have  looked  into  the  old  books,  —  into 
Schenckius  and  Turner  and  Kenelm  Digby  and  the 
rest,  where  I  have  found  plenty  of  curious  stories 
which  you  must  take  for  what  they  are  worth. 

Your  first  question  I  can  answer  in  the  affirmative 


222  ELSIE   VENNER. 

upon  pretty  good  authority.  Mizaldus  tells,  in  his 
"Memorabilia,"  the  well-known  story  of  the  girl  fed 
on  poisons,  who  was  sent  by  the  king  of  the  Indies  to 
Alexander  the  Great.  "  When  Aristotle  saw  her  eyes  i 
sparkling  and  snapping  like  those  of  serpents,  he  said, 
'Look  out  for  yourself,  Alexander!  this  is  a  dangerous! 
companion  for  you! '  "  —  and  sure  enough,  the  young 
lady  proved  to  be  a  very  unsafe  person  to  her  friends. 
Cardanus  gets  a  story  from  Avicenna,  of  a  certain 
man  bit  by  a  serpent,  who  recovered  of  his  bite,  the 
snake  dying  therefrom.  This  man  afterwards  had  a 
daughter  whom  venomous  serpents  could  not  harm, 
though  she  had  a  fatal  power  over  them. 

I  suppose  you  may  remember  the  statements  of  old 
authors  about  lycanthropy,  the  disease  in  which  men  I 
took  on  the  nature  and  aspect  of  wolves.  Actius  and: 
Paulus,  both  men  of  authority,  describe  it.  Altoma-^ 
ris  gives  a  horrid  case;  and  Fincelius  mentions  one 
occurring  as  late  as  1541,  the  subject  of  which  was] 
captured,  still  insisting  that  he  was  a  wolf,  only  that] 
the  hair  of  his  hide  was  turned  in!  Versipelles,  it 
may  be  remembered,  was  the  Latin  name  for  these 
"were-wolves." 

As  for  the  cases  where  rabid  persons  have  barked 
and  bit  like  dogs,  there  are  plenty  of  such  on  record.  ,j 

More  singular,  or  at  least  more  rare,  is  the  account 
given  by  Andreas  Baccius,  of  a  man  who  was  struck 
in  the  hand  by  a  cock,  with  his  beak,  and  who  died 
on  the  third  day  thereafter,  looking  for  all  the  world 
like  a  fighting -cock,  to  the  great  horror  of  the  specta 
tors. 

As  to  impressions  transmitted  at  a  very  early  pe 
riod  of  existence,  every  one  knows  the  story  of  King 
James's  fear  of  a  naked  sword,  and  the  way  it  is  ac- 


ELSIE  VENNER.  223 

counted  for.  Sir  Kenelm  Digby  says,  —  "I  remem 
ber  when  he  dubbed  me  Knight,  in  the  ceremony  of 
putting  the  point  of  a  naked  sword  upon  my  shoulder, 
he  could  not  endure  to  look  upon  it,  but  turned  his 
face  another  way,  insomuch,  that,  in  lieu  of  touching 
my  shoulder,  he  had  almost  thrust  the  point  into  my 
eyes,  had  not  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  guided  his 
hand  aright."  It  is  he,  too,  who  tells  the  story  of  the 
mulberry  mark  upon  the  neck  of  a  certain  lady  of 
high  condition,  which  "every  year,  in  mulberry  sea 
son,  did  swell,  grow  big,  and  itch."  And  Gaffarel 
mentions  the  case  of  a  girl  born  with  the  figure  of  a 
fish  on  one  of  her  limbs,  of  which  the  wonder  was, 
that,  when  the  girl  did  eat  fish,  this  mark  put  her  to 
sensible  pain.  But  there  is  no  end  .to  cases  of  this 
kind,  and  I  could  give  some  of  recent  date,  if  neces 
sary,  lending  a  certain  plausibility  at  least  to  the  doc 
trine  of  transmitted  impressions. 

I  never  saw  a  distinct  case  of  evil  eye,  though  I  have 
seen  eyes  so  bad  that  they  might  produce  strange  ef 
fects  on  very  sensitive  natures.  But  the  belief  in  it 
under  various  names,  fascination,  jettatura,  etc.,  is 
so  permanent  and  universal,  from  Egypt  to  Italy,  and 
from  the  days  of  Solomon  to  those  of  Ferdinand  of 
Naples,  that  there  must  be  some  peculiarity,  to  say 
the  least,  on  which  the  opinion  is  based.  There  is 
very  strong  evidence  that  some  such  power  is  exer 
cised  by  certain  of  the  lower  animals.  Thus,  it  is 
stated  on  good  authority  that  "almost  every  animal 
becomes  panic-struck  at  the  sight  of  the  rattlesnake, 
and  seems  at  once  deprived  of  the  power  of  motion,  or 
the  exercise  of  its  usual  instinct  of  self-preservation." 
Other  serpents  seem  to  share  this  power  of  fascina 
tion,  as  the  Cobra  and  the  Bucephalus  Capensis* 


224  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Some  think  that  it  is  nothing  but  fright;  others  at 
tribute  it  to  the 

"  strange  powers  that  lie 
Within  the  magic  circle  of  the  eye,"  — 

as  Churchill  said,  speaking  of  Garrick. 

You  ask  me  about  those  mysterious  and  frightful 
intimacies  between  children  and  serpents,  of  which  so 
many  instances  have  been  recorded.  I  am  sure  I  can 
not  tell  what  to  make  of  them.  I  have  seen  several 
such  accounts  in  recent  papers,  but  here  is  one  pub 
lished  in  the  seventeenth  century,  which  is  as  striking 
as  any  of  the  more  modern  ones :  — 

"Mr.  Herbert  Jones  of  Monmouth,  when  he  was  a 
little  Boy,  was  used  to  eat  his  Milk  in  a  Garden  in 
the  Morning,  and  was  no  sooner  there,  but  a  large 
Snake  always  came,  and  eat  out  of  the  Dish  with  him, 
and  did  so  for  a  considerable  time,  till  one  Morning, 
he  striking  the  Snake  on  the  Head,  it  hissed  at  him. 
Upon  which  he  told  his  Mother  that  the  Baby  (for  so 
he  call'd  it)  cry'd  ffiss  at  him.  His  Mother  had  it 
kill'd,  which  occasioned  him  a  great  fit  of  Sickness, 
and  'twas  thought  would  have  dy'd,  but  did  recover." 

There  was  likewise  one  "  William  Writtle,  con 
demned  at  Maidston  Assizes  for  a  double  murder, 
told  a  Minister  that  was  with  him  after  he  was  con 
demned,  that  his  mother  told  him,  that  when  he  was  a 
Child,  there  crept  always  to  him  a  Snake,  wherever 
she  laid  him.  Sometimes  she  would  convey  him  up 
Stairs,  and  leave  him  never  so  little,  she  should  be 
sure  to  find  a  Snake  in  the  Cradle  with  him,  but 
never  perceived  it  did  him  any  harm." 

One  of  the  most  striking  alleged  facts  connected 
with  the  mysterious  relation  existing  between  the  ser 
pent  and  the  human  species  is  the  influence  which  the 


ELSIE  VENNER.  225 

poison  of  the  Crotalus,  taken  internally,  seemed  to 
produce  over  the  moral  faculties,  in  the  experiments 
instituted  by  Dr.  Hering  at  Surinam.  There  is  some 
thing  frightful  in  the  disposition  of  certain  ophidians, 
as  the  whipsnake,  which  darts  at  the  eyes  of  cattle 
without  any  apparent  provocation  or  other  motive., 
It  is  natural  enough  that  the  evil  principle  should  have 
been  represented  in  the  form  of  a  serpent,  but  it  is 
strange  to  think  of  introducing  it  into  a  human  being 
like  cow-pox  by  vaccination. 

You  know  all  about  the  Psylli,  or  ancient  serpent- 
tamers,  I  suppose.  Savary  gives  an  account  of  the 
modern  serpent-tamers  in  his  "Letters  on  Egypt." 
These  modern  jugglers  are  in  the  habit  of  making  the 
venomous  Naja  counterfeit  death,  lying  out  straight 
and  stiff,  changing  it  into  a  rod,  as  the  ancient  ma- 
Igicians  did  with  their  serpents,  (probably  the  same 
(animal,)  in  the  time  of  Moses. 

I  am  afraid  I  cannot  throw  much  light  on  "  Chris- 
ftabel"  or  "Lamia "by  any  criticism  I  can  offer, 
kjreraldine,  in  the  former,  seems  to  be  simply  a  ma- 
jlignant  v;itch-woman  with  the  evil  eye,  but  with  no 
absolute  ophidian  relationship.  Lamia  is  a  serpent 
transformed  by  magic  into  a  woman.  The  idea  of 
both  is  mythological,  and  not  in  any  sense  physiolo- 
ijical.  Some  women  unquestionably  suggest  the  im 
age  of  serpents ;  men  rarely  or  never.  I  have  been 
[.truck,  like  many  others,  with  the  ophidian  head  and 
|;ye  of  the  famous  Rachel. 

Your  question  about  inherited  predispositions,  as 

limiting  the  sphere  of  the  will,  and,  consequently,  of 

inoral  accountability,  opens  a  very  wide  range  of  spec- 

ilation.     I  can  give  you  only  a  brief  abstract  of  my 

|>wn  opinions  on  this    delicate  and  difficult  subject. 


226  ELSIE  TENNER. 

Crime  and  sin,  being  the  preserves  of  two  great  organ- 
ized  interests,  have  been  guarded  against  all  reforming 
poachers  with  as  great  jealousy  as  the  Royal  Forests. 
It  is  so  easy  to  hang  a  troublesome  fellow !  It  is  so 
much  simpler  to  consign  a  soul  to  perdition,  or  say 
masses,  for  money,  to  save  it,  than  to  take  the  blame 
on  ourselves  for  letting  it  grow  up  in  neglect  and  run 
to  ruin  for  want  of  humanizing  influences!  They 
hung  poor,  crazy  Bellingham  for  shooting  Mr.  Per 
ceval.  The  ordinary  of  Newgate  preached  to  women 
who  were  to  swing  at  Tyburn  for  a  petty  theft  as  if 
they  were  worse  than  other  people,  —  just  as  though 
he  would  not  have  been  a  pickpocket  or  shoplifter, 
himself ,  if  he  had  been  born  in  a  den  of  .thieves  and 
bred  up  to  steal  or  starve!  The  English  law  never 
began  to  get  hold  of  the  idea  that  a  crime  was  not  ne 
cessarily  a  sin,  till  Hadfield,  who  thought  he  was  the 
Saviour  of  mankind,  was  tried  for  shooting  at  George 
the  Third; — lucky  for  him  that  he  did  not  hit  his 
Majesty ! 

It  is  very  singular  that  we  recognize  all  the  bodily 
defects  that  unfit  a  man  for  military  service,  and  all 
the  intellectual  ones  that  limit  his  range  of  thought, 
but  always  talk  at  him  as  if  all  his  moral  powers  were 
perfect.  I  suppose  we  must  punish  evil-doers  as  we 
extirpate  vermin ;  but  I  don't  know  that  we  have  any 
more  right  to  judge  them  than  we  have  to  judge  rats 
and  mice,  which  are  just  as  good  as  cats  and  weasels, 
though  we  think  it  necessary  to  treat  them  as  crimi 
nals. 

The  limitations  of  human  responsibility  have  never 
been  properly  studied,  unless  it  be  by  the  phrenolo 
gists.  You  know  from  my  lectures  that  I  consider 
phrenology,  as  taught,  a  pseudo-science,  and  not  a 


, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  227 

branch  of  positive  knowledge;    but,  for  all  that,  wr 
owe  it  an  immense  debt.     It  has  melted  the  world' 
conscience  in  its  crucible,  and  cast  it  in  a  new  moul( 
with  features  less  like  those  of  Moloch  and  more  HI 
those  of  humanity.     If  it  has  failed  to  demonstrate  : 
system  of  special  correspondences,  it  has  proved  that 
there  are  fixed   relations   between   organization   and 
mind  and  character.     It  has  brought  out  that  great 
doctrine  of  moral  insanity,  which  has  done  more  to 
make  men  charitable  and  soften  legal  and  theological 
barbarism  than  any  one  doctrine  that  I  can  think  of 
since  the  message  of  peace  and  good-will  to  men. 

Automatic  action  in  the  moral  world;  the  reflex 
movement  which  seems  to  be  self-determination,  and 
has  been  hanged  and  howled  at  as  such  (metaphori 
cally)  for  nobody  knows  how  many  centuries:  until 
somebody  shall  study  this  as  Marshall  Hall  has  stud 
ied  reflex  nervous  action  in  the  bodily  system,  I  would 
not  give  much  for  men's  judgments  of  each  others' 
characters.  Shut  up  the  robber  and  the  defaulter,  we 
must.  But  what  if  your  oldest  boy  had  been  stolen 
from  his  cradle  and  bred  in  a  North-Street  cellar? 
What  if  you  are  drinking  a  little  too  much  wine  and 
smoking  a  little  too  much  tobacco,  and  your  son  takes 
after  you,  and  so  your  poor  grandson's  brain  being 
a  little  injured  in  physical  texture,  he  loses  the  fine 
moral  sense  on  which  you  pride  yourself,  and  does  n't 
see  the  difference  between  signing  another  man's  name 
to  a  draft  and  his  own? 

I  suppose  the    study  of   automatic  action    in    the 
moral  world  (you  see  what  I  mean  through  the  appar- 
i  ent  contradiction  of  terms)  may  be  a  dangerous  one  in 
the  view  of  many  people.     It  is  liable  to  abuse,  no 
doubt.     People  are  always  glad  to  get  hold  of  any 


'   228  ELSIE   VENNER. 

/  thing  which  limits  their  responsibility.  But  remem 
ber  that  our  moral  estimates  come  down  to  us  from 
ancestors  who  hanged  children  for  stealing  forty  shil 
lings'  worth,  and  sent  their  souls  to  perdition  for  the 
sin  of  being  born,  —  who  punished  the  unfortunate 
families  of  suicides,  and  in"  their  eagerness  for  justice 
executed  one  innocent  person  every  three  years,  on 
the  average,  as  Sir  James  Mackintosh  tells  us. 

I  do  not  know  in  what  shape  the  practical  question 
may  present  itself  to  you ;  but  I  will  tell  you  my  rule 
in  life,  and  I  think  you  will  find  it  a  good  one. 
•  Treat  bad  men  exactly  as  if  they  were  insane.  They 
v  are  in-sane,  out  of  health,  morally.  Reason,  which 
is  food  to  sound  minds,  is  not  tolerated,  still  less  as 
similated,  unless  administered  with  the  greatest  cau 
tion  ;  perhaps,  not  at  all.  Avoid  collision  with  them, 
so  far  as  you  honorably  can ;  keep  your  temper,  if  you 
can,  —  for  one  angry  man  is  as  good  as  another ;  re 
strain  them  from  violence,  promptly,  completely,  and 
with  the  least  possible  injury,  just  as  in  the  case  of 
maniacs,  —  and  when  you  have  got  rid  of  them,  or  got 
them  tied  hand  and  foot  so  that  they  can  do  no  mis 
chief,  sit  down  and  contemplate  them  charitably,  re 
membering  that  nine  tenths  of  their  perversity  comes 
from  outside  influences,  drunken  ancestors,  abuse  in 
childhood,  bad  company,  from  which  you  have  happily 
been  preserved,  and  for  some  of  which  you,  as  a  mem 
ber  of  society,  may  be  fractionally  responsible.  I 
think  also  that  there  are  special  influences  which  work 
in  the  blood  like  ferments,  and  I  have  a  suspicion  that 
some  of  those  curious  old  stories  I  cited  may  have 
more  recent  parallels.  Have  you  ever  met  with  any 
cases  which  admitted  of  a  solution  like  that  which  I 
have  mentioned? 

Yours  very  truly, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  229 

Bernard  Langdon  to  Philip  Staples. 
MY  DEAR  PHILIP,  — 

I  have  been  for  some  months  established  in  this 
place,  turning  the  main  crank  of  the  machinery  for 
the  manufactory  of  accomplishments  superintended  by, 
or  rather  worked  to  the  profit  of,  a  certain  Mr.  Silas 
Peckham.  He^is  a  poor  wretch,  with  a  little  thin 
fishy  blood  in  his  body,  lean  and  flat,  long-armed  and 
large-handed,  thick-jointed  and  thin-muscled,  —  you 
know  those  unwholesome,  weak-eyed,  half-fed  crea 
tures,  that  look  not  fit  to  be  round  among  live  folks, 
and  yet  not  quite  dead  enough  to  bury.  If  you  ever 
hear  of  my  being  in  court  to  answer  to  a  charge  of 
assault  and  battery,  you  may  guess  that  I  have  been 
giving  him  a  thrashing  to  settle  off  old  scores ;  for  he 
is  a  tyrant,  and  has  come  pretty  near  killing  his  prin 
cipal  lady-assistant  with  overworking  her  and  keep 
ing  her  out  of  all  decent  privileges. 

Helen  Darley  is  this  lady's  name,  — twenty  two  or 
three  years  old,  I  should  think,  —  a  very  sweet,  pale 
woman,  —  daughter  of  the  usual  country-clergyman, 

—  thrown  on  her  own  resources  from  an  early  age,  and 
the  rest :  a  common  story,  but  an  uncommon  person, 

—  very.     All  conscience  and  sensibility,  I  should  say, 
—  a  cruel  worker,  —  no  kind  of  regard  for  herself,  — 

seems  as  fragile  and  supple  as  a  young  willow-shoot, 
but  try  her  and  you  find  she  has  the  spring  in  her  of 
,a  steel  cross-bow.  I  am  glad  I  happened  to  come  to 
this  place,  if  it  were  only  for  her  sake.  I  have  saved 
that  girl's  life;  I  am  as  sure  of  it  as  if  I  had  pulled 
her  out  of  the  fire  or  water. 

Of  course  I  'm  in  love  with  her,  you  say,  —  we  al- 
.vays  love  those  whom  we  have  benefited ;  "  saved  'her 


230  ELSIE  VENDER. 

life,  — her  love  was  the  reward  of  his  devotion,"  etc., 
etc.,  as  in  a  regular  set  novel.  In  love,  Philip? 
Well,  about  that,  —  I  love  Helen  Darley  —  very 
much :  there  is  hardly  anybody  I  love  so  well.  What 
a  noble  creature  she  is!  One  of  those  that  just  go 
right  on,  do  their  own  work  and  everybody  else's, 
killing  themselves  inch  by  inch  without  ever  thinking 
about  it,  —  singing  and  dancing  at  their  toil  when 
they  begin,  worn  and  saddened  after  a  while,  but 
pressing  steadily  on,  tottering  by  and  by,  and  catch 
ing  at  the  rail  by  the  way-side  to  help  them  lift  one 
foot  before  the  other,  and  at  last  falling,  face  down, 
arms  stretched  forward  — 

Philip,  my  boy,  do  you  know  I  am  the  sort  of  man 
that  locks  his  door  sometimes  and  cries  his  heart  out 
of  his  eyes,  —  that  can  sob  like  a  woman  and  not  be 
ashamed  of  it?     I  come  of  fighting-blood  on  one  side, 
you  know;  I  think  I  could  be  savage  on  occasion. 
But  I  am  tender,  —  more  and  more  tender  as  I  come 
into  my  fulness  of  manhood.     I  don't  like  to  strike  a 
man,  (laugh,  if  you  like,  —  I  know  I  hit  hard  when  I ; 
do  strike,)  —  but  what  I  can't  stand  is  the  sight       ~ 
these  poor,  patient,  toiling  women,  who  never  find  out,] 
in  this  life^  how  good  they  are,  and  never  know  what  it  :j 
is  to  be  told  they  are  angels  while  they  still  wear  the 
pleasing  incumbrances  of  humanity.     I  don't  know  a 
what  to  make  of  these  cases.     To  think  that  a  woman  1 
is  never  to  be  a  woman  again,  whatever  she  may  comef , 
to  as  an  unsexed  angel,  —  and  that  slve  should  die  un 
loved  !     Why  does  not  somebody  come  and  carry  ofl 
this  noble  woman,  waiting  here  all  ready  to  make  a 
man  happy?     Philip,  do  you  know  the  pathos  there 
is  in  the  eyes  of  unsought  women,  oppressed  with  the 
burden  of  an  inner  life  unshared?     I  can  see  into  then 


231 

now  as  I  could  not  in  those  earlier  days.  I  sometimes 
think  their  pupils  dilate  on  purpose  to  let  my  con 
sciousness  glide  through  them ;  indeed,  I  dread  them, 
I  come  so  close  to  the  nerve  of  the  soul  itself  in  these 
momentary  intimacies.  You  used  to  tell  me  I  was  a 
Turk,  —  that  my  heart  was  full  of  pigeon-holes,  with 
accommodations  inside  for  a  whole  flock  of  doves.  I 
don't  know  but  I  am  still  as  Youngish  as  ever  in  mv 

o  «/ 

ways,  —  Brigham- Youngish,  I  mean ;  at  any  rate,  I 
always  want  to  give  a  little  love  to  all  the  poor  things 
that  cannot  have  a  whole  man  to  themselves.  If  they 
would  only  be  contented  with  a  little ! 

Here  now  are  two  girls  in  this  school  where  I  am 
teaching.  One  of  them,  Rosa  1^.,  is  not  more  than 
sixteen  years  old,  I  think  they  say ;  but  Nature  has 
forced  her  into  a  tropical  luxuriance  of  beauty,  as  if  it 
were  July  with  her,  instead  of  May.  I  suppose  it  is 
all  natural  enough  that  this  girl  should  like  a  young 
man's  attention,  even  if  he  were  a  grave  schoolmas 
ter;  but  the  eloquence  of  this  young  thing's  look  is 
unmistakable,  —  and  yet  she  does  not  know  the  lan 
guage  it  is  talking, — they  none  of  them  do;  and 
there  is  where  a  good  many  poor  creatures  of  our  good- 
for-nothing  sex  are  mistaken.  There  is  no  danger  of 
my  being  rash,  but  I  think  this  girl  will  cost  some 
body  his  life  yet.  She  is  one  of  those  women  men 
make  a  quarrel  about  and  fight  to  the  death  for,  — 
the  old  feral  instinct,  you  know. 

Pray,  don't  think  I  am  lost  in  conceit,  but  there  is 
another  girl  here  who  I  begin  to  think  looks  with  a 
certain  kindness  on  me.  Her  name  is  Elsie  V.,  and 
she  is  the  only  daughter  and  heiress  of  an  old  family 
in  this  place.  She  is  a  portentous  and  almost  fearful 
creature.  If  I  should  tell  you  all  I  know  and  half  of 


232  ELSIE  VENNER. 

what  I  fancy  about  her,  you  would  tell  me  to  get  my 
life  insured  at  once.  Yet  she.  is  the  most  painfully 
interesting  being,  —  so  handsome !  so  lonely !  —  for 
she  has  no  friends  among  the  girls,  and  sits  apart 
from  them, —  with  black  hair  like  the  flow  of  a  moun 
tain-brook  after  a  thaw,  with  a  low-browed,  scowling 
beauty  of  face,  and  such  eyes  as  were  never  seen  be 
fore,  I  really  believe,  in  any  human  creature. 

Philip,  I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  this  Elsie. 
There  is  something  about  her  I  have  not  fathomed. 
I  have  conjectures  which  I  could  not  utter  to  any  liv- 
*  ing  soul.     I  dare  not  even  hint  the  possibilities  which 
.  ,  -have  suggested  themselves  to  me.     This  I  will  say,  — 
\    that  I  do  take  the  most  intense  interest  in  this  young 
^  person,  an  interest  much  more  like  pity  than  love  in 
its  common  sense.     If  what  I  guess  at  is  true,  of  all 
the  tragedies  of  existence  I  ever  knew  this  is  the  sad 
dest,  and  yet  so  full  of  meaning  I     Do  not  ask  me  any 
questions,  —  I  have  said  more  than  I  meant  to  al 
ready  ;  but  I  am  involved  in  strange  doubts  and  per 
plexities,  —  in  dangers   too,  very  possibly,  —  and   it 
is  a  relief  just  to  speak  ever  so  guardedly  of  them  to 
an  early  and  faithful  friend. 

Yours  ever,  BERNARD. 

P.  S.  I  remember  you  had  a  copy  of  Fortunius 
Licetus'  "De  Monstris "  among  your  old  books. 
Can't  you  lend  it  to  me  for  a  while?  I  am  curious9 
and  it  will  amuse  me. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

OLD  SOPHY  CALLS  ON  THE  REVEREND  DOCTOR 

THE  two  meeting-houses  which  faced  each  other 
like  a  pair  of  fighting-cocks  had  not  flapped  their 
wings  or  crowed  at  each  other  for  a  considerable  time. 
The  Reverend  Mr.  Fairweather  had  been  dyspeptic 
and  low-spirited  of  late,  and  was  too  languid  for 
controversy.  The  Reverend  Doctor  Honeywood  had 
been  very  busy  with  his  benevolent  associations,  and 
had  discoursed  chiefly  on  practical  matters,  to  the 
neglect  of  special  doctrinal  subjects.  His  senior  dea 
con  ventured  to  say  to  him  that  some  of  his  people 
required  to  be  reminded  of  the  great  fundamental 
doctrine  of  the  worthlessness  of  all  human  efforts  and 
motives.  Some  of  them  were  altogether  too  much 
pleased  with  the  success  of  the  Temperance  Society 
and  the  Association  for  the  Relief  of  the  Poor. 
There  was  a  pestilent  heresy  about,  concerning  the 
satisfaction  to  be  derived  from  a  good  conscience,  — 
as  if  anybody  ever  did  anything  which  was  not  to  be 
hated,  loathed,  despised,  and  condemned. 

The  old  minister  listened  gravely,  with  an  inward 
smile,  and  told  his  deacon  that  he  would  attend  to  his 
suggestion.  After  the  deacon  had  gone,  he 'tumbled 
over  his  manuscripts,  until  at  length  he  came  upon 
his  first-rate  old  sermon  on  "Human  Nature."  He 
had  read  a  great  deal  of  hard  theology,  and  had  at  last 
reached  that  curious  state  which  is  so  common  in  good 


234  ELSIE   VENNER. 

ministers,  —  that,  namely,  in  which  they  contrive  to 
switch  off  their  logical  faculties  on  the  narrow  side 
track  of  their  technical  dogmas,  while  the  great 
freight-train  of  their  substantial  human  qualities  keeps 
in  the  main  highway  of  common-sense,  in  which  kindly 
souls  are  always  found  by  all  who  approach  them  by 
their  human  side. 

The  Doctor  read  his  sermon  with  a  pleasant,  pater 
nal  interest:  it  was  well  argued  from  his  premises. 
Here  and  there  he  dashed  his  pen  through  a  harsh  ex 
pression.  Now  and  then  he  added  an  explanation  or 
qualified  a  broad  statement.  But  his  mind  was  on  the 
logical  side-track,  and  he  followed  the  chain  of  reason 
ing  without  fairly  perceiving  where  it  would  lead  him, 
if  he  carried  it  into  real  life. 

He  was  just  touching  up  the  final  proposition,  when 
his-  granddaughter,  Letty,  once  before  referred  to, 
came  into  the  room  with  her  smiling  face  and  lively 
movement.  Miss  .Letty  or  Letitia  Forrester  was  a 
city -bred  girl  of  some  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  old,  who 
was  passing  the  summer  with  her  grandfather  for  the 
sake  of  country  air  and  quiet.  It  was  a  sensible  ar 
rangement  ;  for,  having  the  promise  of  figuring  as  a 
belle  by  and  by,  and  being  a  little  given  to  dancing, 
and  having  a  voice  which  drew  a  pretty  dense  circle 
around  the  piano  when  she  sat  down  to  play  and  sing, 
it  was  hard  to  keep  her  from  being  carried  into  society 
before  her  time,  by  the  mere  force  of  mutual  attrac 
tion.  Fortunately,  she  had  some  quiet  as  well  as 
some  social  tastes,  and  was  willing  enough  to  pass  two 
or  three  of  the  summer  months  in  the  country,  where 
she  was  much  better  bestowed  than  she  would  have 
been  at  one  of  those  watering-places  where  so  many 
half -formed  girls  get  prematurely  hardened  in  the  vice 
of  self -consciousness. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  235 

Miss  Letty  was  altogether  too  wholesome,  hearty, 
and  high-strung  a  young  girl  to  be  a  model,  according 
to  the  flat-chested  and  cachectic  pattern  which  is  the 
classical  type  of  certain  excellent  young  females,  often 
the  subjects  of  biographical  memoirs.  But  the  old 
minister  was  proud  of  his  granddaughter  for  all  that. 
She  was  so  full  of  life,  so  graceful,  so  generous,  so 
vivacious,  so  ready  always  to  do  all  she  could  for  him 
and  for  everybody,  so  perfectly  frank  in  her  avowed 
delight  in  the  pleasures  which  this  miserable  world 
offered  her  in  the  shape  of  natural  beauty,  of  poetry, 
of  music,  of  companionship,  of  books,  of  cheerful  co 
operation  in  the  tasks  of  those  about  her,  that  the 
Reverend  Doctor  could  net  find  it  in  his  heart  to  con 
demn  her  because  she  was  deficient  in  those  particular 
graces  and  that  signal  other -worldliness  he  had  some 
times  noticed  in  feeble  young  persons  suffering  from 
various  chronic  diseases  which  impaired  their  vivacity 
and  removed  them  from  the  range  of  temptation. 

When  Letty,  therefore,  came  bounding  into  the  old 
minister's  study,  he  glanced  up  from  liis  manuscript, 
and,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  her,  it  flashed  across  him 
that  there  was  nothing  so  very  monstrous  and  unnat 
ural  about  the  specimen  of  congenital  perversion  he 
was  looking  at,  with  his  features  opening  into  their 
pleasantest  sunshine.  Technically,  according  to  the 
fifth^  proposition  of  the  sermon  on  Human  Nature, 
very  bad,  no  doubt.  Practically,  according  to  the 
fact  before  him,  a  very  pretty  piece  of  the  Creator's 
handiwork,  body  and  soul.  Was  it  not  a  conceivable 
thing  that  the  divine  grace  might  show  itself  in  differ 
ent  forms  in  a  fresh  young  girl  like  Letitia,  and  in 
that  poor  thing  he  had  visited  yesterday,  half -grown, 
half -colored,  in  bed  for  the  last  year  with  hip-disease? 


236  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Was  it  to  be  supposed  that  this  healthy  young  girl, 
with  life  throbbing  all  over  her,  could,  without  a 
miracle,  be  good  according  to  the  invalid  pattern  and 
formula  ? 

And  yet  there  were  mysteries  in  human  nature  which 
pointed  to  some  tremendous  perversion  of  its  tenden 
cies,  —  to  some  profound,  radical  vice  of  moral  consti 
tution,  native  or  transmitted,  as  you  will  have  it,  but 
positive,  at  any  rate,  as  the  leprosy,  breaking  out  in 
the  blood  of  races,  guard  them  ever  so  carefully.  Did 
he  not  know  the  case  of  a  young  lady  in  Rockland, 
daughter  of  one  of  the  first  families  in  the  place,  a 
very  beautiful  and  noble  creature  to  look  at,  for 
whose  bringing  up  nothing  had  been  spared,  —  a  girl 
who  had  had  governesses  to  teach  her  at  the  house, 
who  had  been  indulged  almost  too  kindly,  —  a  girl 
whose  father  had  given  himself  up  to  her,  he  being 
himself  a  pure  and  high-souled  man  ?  —  and  yet  this 
girl  was  accused  in  whispers  of  having  been  on  the 
very  verge  of  committing  a  fatal  crime;  she  was  an 
object  of  fear  to  all  who  knew  the  dark  hints  which 
had  been  let  fall  about  her,  and  there  were  some  that 
believed —  Why,  what  was  this  but  an  instance  of 
the  total  obliquity  and  degeneration  of  the  moral  prin 
ciple  ?  and  to  what  could  it  be  owing,  but  to  an  innate 
organic  tendency? 

"Busy,  grandpapa?"  said  Letty,  and  without  wait 
ing  for  an  answer  kissed  his  cheek  with  a  pair  of  lips 
made  on  purpose  for  that  little  function,  —  fine,  but 
richly  turned  out,  the  corners  tucked  in  with  a  finish 
of  pretty  dimples,  the  rose-bud  lips  of  girlhood's 
June. 

The  old  gentleman  looked  at  his  granddaughter. 
Nature  swelled  up  from  his  heart  in  a  wave  that  sent 


ELSIE  VENNER.  237 

a  glow  to  his  cheek  and  a  sparkle  to  his  eye.  But  it 
is  very  hard  to  be  interrupted  just  as  we  are  winding 
up  a  string  of  propositions  with  the  grand  conclusion 
which  is  the  statement  in  brief  of  all  that  has  gone  be 
fore  :  our  own  starting-point,  into  which  we  have  been 
trying  to  back  our  reader  or  listener  as  one  backs  a 
horse  into  the  shafts. 

"  Video  meliora,  proboque,  —  I  see  the  better,  and 
approve  it ;  deteriora  sequor,  I  follow  after  the  worse ; 
't  is  that  natural  dislike  to  what  is  good,  pure,  holy, 
and  true,  that  inrooted  selfishness,  totally  insensible 
to  the  claims  of  "  — 

Here  the  worthy  man  was  interrupted  by  Miss 
Letty. 

"Do  come,  if  you  can,  grandpapa,"  said  the  young 
girl;  "here  is  a  poor  old  black  woman  wants  to  see 
you  so  much! " 

The  good  minister  was  as  kind-hearted  as  if  he  had 
never  groped  in  the  dust  and  ashes  of  those  cruel  old 
abstractions  which  have  killed  out  so  much  of  the 
world's  life  and  happiness.  "With  the  heart  man 
belie veth  unto  righteousness ; "  a  man's  love  is  the 
measure  of  his  fitness  for  good  or  bad  company  here 
or  elsewhere.  Men  are  tattooed  with  their  special 
beliefs  like  so  many  South-Sea  Islanders ;  but  a  real 
human  heart,  with  Divine  love  in  it,  beats  with  the 
same  glow  under  all  the  patterns  of  all  earth's  thou 
sand  tribes ! 

The  Doctor  sighed,  and  folded  the  sermon,  and  laid 
the  Quarto  Cruden  on  it.  He  rose  from  his  desk, 
and,  looking  once  more  at  the  young  girl's  face,  forgot 
his  logical  conclusions,  and  said  to  himself  that  she 
was  a  little  angel,  —  which  was  in  violent  contradic 
tion  to  the  leading;  doctrine  of  his  sermon  on  Human 


238  ELSIE  VENNER. 

Nature.  And  so  he  followed  her  out  of  the  study  into 
the  wide  entry  of  the  old-fashioned  country-house. 

An  old  black  woman  sat  on  the  plain  oaken  settle 
which  humble  visitors  waiting  to  see  the  minister  were 
wont  to  occupy.  She  was  old,  but  how  old  it  would 
be  very  hard  to  guess.  She  might  be  seventy.  She 
might  be  ninety.  One  could  not  swear  she  was  not  a 
hundred.  Black  women  remain  at  a  stationary  age 
(to  the  eyes  of  white  people,  at  least)  for  thirty  years. 
They  do  not  appear  to  change  during  this  period  any 
more  than  so  many  Trenton  trilobites.  Bent  up, 
wrinkled,  yellow-eyed,  with  long  upper-lip,  projecting 
jaws,  retreating  chin,  still  meek  features,  long  arms, 
large  flat  hands  with  uncolored  palms  and  slightly 
webbed  fingers,  it  was  impossible  not  to  see  in  this 
old  creature  a  hint  of  the  gradations  by  which  life 
climbs  up  through  the  lower  natures  to  the  highest 
human  developments.  We  cannot  tell  such  old 
women's  ages  because  we  do  not  understand  the  phy 
siognomy  of  a  race  so  unlike  our  own.  No  doubt  they 
see  a  great  deal  in  each  other's  faces  that  we  cannot, 
—  changes  of  color  and  expression  as  real  as  our  own, 
blushes  and  sudden  betrayals  of  feeling,  —  just  as 
these  two  canaries  know  what  their  single  notes  and 
short  sentences  and  full  song  with  this  or  that  varia 
tion  mean,  though  it  is  a  mystery  to  us  unplumed 
mortals. 

This  particular  old  black  woman  was  a  striking 
specimen  of  her  class.  Old  as  she  looked,  her  eye 
was  bright  and  knowing.  She  wore  a  red-and-yellow 
turban,  which  set  off  her  complexion  well,  and  hoops 
of  gold  in  her  ears,  and  beads  of  gold  about  her  neck, 
and  an  old  funeral  ring  upon  her  finger.  She  had 
that  touching  stillness  about  her  which  belongs  to  ani- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  239 

mals  that  wait  to  be  spoken  to  and  then  look  up  with 
a  kind  of  sad  humility. 

"Why,  Sophy!"  said  the  good  minister,  "is  this 
you?"  " 

She  looked  up  with  the  still  expression  on  her  face, 
"It 'sol'  Sophy,"  she  said. 

"Why,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  did  not  believe  you 
could  walk  so  far  as  this  to  save  the  Union.  Bring 
Sophy  a  glass  of  wine,  Letty.  Wine  's  good  for  old 
folks  like  Sophy  and  me,  after  walking  a  good  way, 
or  preaching  a  good  while." 

The  young  girl  stepped  into  the  back-parlor,  where 
she  found  the  great  pewter  flagon  in  which  the  wine 
that  was  left  after  each  communion-service  was 
brought  to  the  minister's  house.  With  much  toil  she 
managed  to  tip  it  so  as  to  get  a  couple  of  glasses  filled. 
The  minister  tasted  his,  and  made  old  Sophy  finish 
hers. 

"I  wan'  to  see  you  'n'  talk  wi'  you  all  alone,"  she 
said  presently. 

The  minister  got  up  and  led  the  way  towards  his 
study.  "To  be  sure,"  he  said;  he  had  only  waited 
for  her  to  rest  a  moment  before  he  asked  her  into  the 
library.  The  young  girl  took  her  gently  by  the  arm, 
and  helped  her  feeble  steps  along  the  passage.  When 
they  reached  the  study,  she  smoothed  the  cushion  of  a 
rocking-chair,  and  made  the  old  woman  sit  down  in 
it.  Then  she  tripped  lightly  away,  and  left  her  alone 
with  the  minister. 

Old  Sophy  was  a  member  of  the  Reverend  Doctor 
Honey  wood's  church.  She  had  been  put  through 
the  necessary  confessions  in  a  tolerably  satisfactory 
manner.  To  be  sure,  as  her  grandfather  had  been  a 
cannibal  chief,  according  to  the  common  story,  and. 


240  ELSIE   VENNER. 

at  any  rate,  a  terrible  wild  savage,  and  as  her  mother 
retained  to  the  last  some  of  the  prejudices  of  her  early 
education,  there  was  a  heathen  flavor  in  her  Chris 
tianity  which  had  often  scandalized  the  elder  of  the 
minister's  two  deacons.  But  the  good  minister  had 
smoothed  matters  over:  had  explained  that  allowances 
were  to  be  made  for  those  who  had  been  long  sitting 
without  the  gate  of  Zion,  —  that,  no  doubt,  a  part  of 
the  curse  which  descended  to  the  children  of  Ham 
consisted  in  "having  the  understanding  darkened,"  as 
well  as  the  skin,  —  and  so  had  brought  his  suspicious 
senior  deacon  to  tolerate  old  Sophy  as  one  of  the  com 
munion  of  fellow-sinners. 

—  Poor  things!  How  little  we  know  the  simple 
notions  with  which  these  rudiments  of  souls  are  nour 
ished  by  the  Divine  Goodness !  Did  not  Mrs.  Pro 
fessor  come  home  this  very  blessed  morning  with  a 
story  of  one  of  her  old  black  women  ? 

"And  how  do  you  feel  to-day,  Mrs.  Robinson?  " 

"Oh,  my  dsar,  I  have  this  singing  in  my  head  all 
the  time."  (What  doctors  call  tinnitus  aurium.) 

"She  's  got  a  cold  in  the  head,"  said  old  Mrs.  Rider. 

"Oh,  no,  my  dear !  Whatever  I  'rn  thinking  about, 
it 's  all  this  singing,  this  music.  When  I  'm  thinking 
of  the  dear  Redeemer,  it  all  turns  into  this  singing 
and  music.  When  the  clark  came  to  see  me,  I  asked 
him  if  he  couldn't  cure  me,  and  he  said,  No,  — it  was 
the  Holy  Spirit  in  me,  singing  to  me ;  and  all  the  time 
I  hear  this  beautiful  music,  and  it 's  the  Holy  Spirit 
a-singing  to  me."  — 

The  good  man  waited  for  Sophy  to  speak ;  but  she 
did  not  open  her  lips  as  yet. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  241 

"I  hope  you  are  not  troubled  in  mind  or  body," 
he  said  to  her  at  length,  finding  she  did  not  speak. 

The  poor  old  woman  took  out  a  white  handkerchief, 
and  lifted  it  to  her  black  face.  She  could  not  say  a 
word  for  her  tears  and  sobs. 

The  minister  would  have  consoled  her ;  he  was  used 
to  tears,  and  could  in  most  cases  withstand  their  con 
tagion  manfully;  but  something  choked  his  voice  sud 
denly,  and  when  he  called  upon  it,  he  got  no  answer, 
but  a  tremulous  movement  of  the  muscles,  which  was 
worse  than  silence. 

At  last  she  spoke. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no!  It's  my  poor  girl,  my  darling, 
my  beauty,  my  baby,  that 's  grown  up  to  be  a  woman; 
she  will  come  to  a  bad  end;  she  will  do  something 
that  will  make  them  kill  her  or  shut  her  up  all  her 
life.  Oh,  Doctor,  Doctor,  save  her,  pray  for  her! 
It  a'n't  her  fault.  It  a'n't  her  fault.  If  they  knew 
all  that  I  know,  they  would  n'  blame  that  poor  child. 
I  must  tell  you,  Doctor :  if  I  should  die,  perhaps  no 
body  else  would  tell  you.  Massa  Yenner  can't  talk 
about  it.  Doctor  Kittredge  won't  talk  about  it.  No 
body  but  old  Sophy  to  tell  you,  Doctor;  and  old 
Sophy  can't  die  without  telling  you." 

The  kind  minister  soothed  the  poor  old  soul  with 
those  gentle,  quieting  tones  which  had  carried  peace 
and  comfort  to  so  many  chambers  of  sickness  and  sor 
row,  to  so  many  hearts  overburdened  by  the  trials  laid 
upon  them. 

Old  Sophy  became  quiet  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
proceeded  to  tell  her  story.  She  told  it  in  the  low 
half-whisper  which  is  the  natural  voice  of  lips  op 
pressed  wiuh  grief  and  fears;  with  quick  glances 
around  the  apartment  from  time  to  time,  as  if  she 


242  ELSIE   VENNER. 

dreaded  lest  the  dim  portraits  on  the  walls  and  the 
dark  folios  on  the  shelves  might  overhear  her  words. 

It  was  not  one  of  those  conversations  which  a  third 
person  can  report  minutely,  unless  by  that  miracle  of 
clairvoyance  known  to  the  readers  of  stories  made  out 
of  authors'  brains.  Yet  its  main  character  can  be 
imparted  in  a  much  briefer  space  than  the  old  black 
woman  took  to  give  all  its  details. 

She  went  far  back  to  the  time  when  Dudley  Venner 
was  born,  —  she  being  then  a  middle-aged  woman. 
The  heir  and  hope  of  a  family  which  had  been  nar 
rowing  down  as  if  doomed  to  extinction,  he  had  been 
surrounded  with  every  care  and  trained  by  the  best 
education  he  could  have  in  New  England.  He  had 
left  college,  and  was  studying  the  profession  which 
gentlemen  of  leisure  most  affect,  when  he  fell  in  love 
with  a  young  girl  left  in  the  world  almost  alone,  as 
he  was.  The  old  woman  told  the  story  of  his  young 
love  and  his  joyous  bridal  with  a  tenderness  which 
had  something  more,  even,  than  her  family  sympa 
thies  to  account  for  it.  Had  she  not  hanging  over  her 
bed  a  paper-cutting  of  a  profile,  —  jet  black,  but  not 
blacker  than  the  face  it  represented  —  of  one  who 
would  have  been  her  own  husband  in  the  small  years 
of  this  century,  if  the  vessel  in  which  he  went  to  sea, 
like  Jamie  in  the  ballad,  had  not  sailed  away  and 
never  come  back  to  land?  Had  she  not  her  bits  of 
furniture  stowed  away  which  had  been  got  ready  for 
her  own  wedding,  —  two  rocking-chairs,  one  worn  with 
long  use,  one  kept  for  him  so  long  that  it  had  grown 
a  superstition  with  her  never  to  sit  in  it,  —  and  might 
he  not  come  back  yet,  after  all?  Had  she  not  her 
chest  of  linen  ready  for  her  humble  house-keeping 
with  store  of  serviceable  huckaback  and  piles  of  neatly 


ELSIE   VENNER.  243 

folded  kerchiefs,  wherefrom  this  one  that  showed  so 
white  against  her  black  face  was  taken,  for  that  she 
knew  her  eyes  would  betray  her  in  "the  presence"? 

All  the  first  part  of  the  story  the  old  woman  told 
tenderly,  and  yet  dwelling  upon  every  incident  with  a 
loving  pleasure.  How  happy  this  young  couple  had 
been,  what  plans  and  projects  of  improvement  they 
had  formed,  how  they  lived  in  each  other,  always 
together,  so  young  and  fresh  and  beautiful  as  she  re 
membered  them  in  that  one  early  summer  when  they 
walked  arm  in  arm  through  the  wilderness  of  roses 
that  ran  riot  in  the  garden,  —  she  told  of  this  as  loath 
to  leave  it  and  come  to  the  woe  that  lay  beneath. 

She  told  the  whole  story;  —  shall  I  repeat  it?  Not 
now.  If,  in  the  course  of  relating  the  incidents  I  have 
undertaken  to  report,  it  tells  itself,  perhaps  this  will 
be  better  than  to  run  the  risk  of  producing  a  painful 
impression  on  some  of  those  susceptible  readers  whom 
it  would  be  ill-advised  to  disturb  or  excite,  when  they 
rather  require  to  be  amused  and  soothed.  In  our 
pictures  of  life,  we  must  show  the  flowering-out  of 
terrible  growths  which  have  their  roots  deep,  deep 
underground.  Just  how  far  we  shall  lay  bare  the  un 
seemly  roots  themselves  is  a  matter  of  discretion  and 
taste,  in  which  none  of  us  are  infallible. 

The  old  woman  told  the  whole  story  of  Elsie,  of  her 
birth,  of  her  peculiarities  of  person  and  disposition, 
of  the  passionate  fears  and  hopes  with  which  her  father 
had  watched  the  course  of  her  development.  She  re 
counted  all  her  strange  ways,  from  the  hour  when  she 
.first  tried  to  crawl  across  the  carpet,  and  her  father's 
look  as  she  worked  her  way  towards  him.  With  the 
memory  of  Juliet's  nurse  she  told  the  story  of  her 
teething,  and  how,  the  woman  to  whose  breast  she 


244  ELSIE   VENNER. 

had  clung  dying  suddenly  about  that  time,  they  had 
to  struggle  hard  with  the  child  before  she  would  learn 
the  accomplishment  of  feeding  with  a  spoon.  And  so 
of  her  fierce  plays  and  fiercer  disputes  with  that  boy 
who  had  been  her  companion,  and  the  whole  scene  of 
the  quarrel  when  she  struck  him  with  those  sharp 
white  teeth,  frightening  her,  old  Sophy,  almost  to 
death;  for,  as  she  said,  the  boy  would  have  died,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  the  old  Doctor's  galloping  over  as 
fast  as  he  could  gallop  and  burning  the  places  right 
out  of  his  arm.  Then  came  the  story  of  that  other 
incident,  sufficiently  alluded  to  already,  which  had 
produced  such  an  ecstasy  of  fright  and  left  such  a 
nightmare -of  apprehension  in  the  household.  And 
so  the  old  woman  came  down  to  this  present  time. 
That  boy  she  never  loved  nor  trusted  was  grown  to  a 
dark,  dangerous-looking  man,  and  he  was  under  their 
roof.  He  wanted  to  marry  our  poor  Elsie,  and  Elsie 
hated  him,  and  sometimes  she  would  look  at  him  over 
her  shoulder  just  as  she  used  to  look  at  that  woman 
she  hated ;  and  she,  old  Sophy,  could  n't  sleep  for 
thinking  she  should  hear  a  scream  from  the  white 
chamber  some  night  and  find  him  in  spasms  such  as 
that  woman  came  so  near  dying  with.  And  then 
there  was  something  about  Elsie  she  did  not  know 
what  to  make  of:  she  would  sit  and  hang  her  head 
sometimes,  and  look  as  if  she  were  dreaming ;  and  she 
brought  home  books  they  said  a  young  gentleman  up 
at  the  great  school  lent  her;  and  Once  she  heard  her 
whisper  in  her  sleep,  and  she  talked  as  young  girls  do 
to  themselves  when  they  're  thinking  about  somebody 
they  have  a  liking  for  and  think  nobody  knows  it. 

She  finished  her  long  story  at  last.     The  minister 
had  listened  to  it  in  perfect  silence.     He  sat  still  even 


ELSIE    VENNER.  245 

when  she  had  done  speaking,  —  still,  and  lost  •  in 
thought.  It  was  a  very  awkward  matter  for  him  to 
have  a  hand  in.  Old  Sophy  was  his  parishioner,  but 
the  Venners  had  a  pew  in  the  Reverend  Mr.  Fair- 
weather's  meeting-house.  It  would  seem  that  he,  Mr. 
Fairweather,  was  the  natural  adviser  of  the  parties 
most  interested.  Had  he  sense  and  spirit  enough  to 
deal  with  such  people?  Was  there  enough  capital  of 
humanity  in  his  somewhat  limited  nature  to  furnish 
sympathy  and  unshrinking  service  for  his  friends  in  an 
emergency?  or  was  he  too  busy  with  his  own  attacks 
i  of  spiritual  neuralgia,  and  too  much  occupied  with 
taking  account  of  stock  of  his  own  thin-blooded 
offences,  to  forget  himself  and  nis  personal  interests 
on  the  small  scale  and  the  large,  and  run  a  risk  of  his 
life,  if  need  were,  at  any  rate  give  himself  up  without 
reserve  to  the  dangerous  task  of  guiding  and  counsel 
ling  these  distressed  and  imperilled  fellow-creatures  ? 

The  good  minister  thought  the  best  thing  to  do 
would  be  to  call  and  talk  over  some  of  these  matters 
with  Brother  Fairweather,  —  for  so  he  would  call  him 
at  times,  especially  if  his  senior  deacon  were  not 
within  earshot.  Having  settled  this  point,  he  com 
forted  Sophy  with  a  few  words  of  counsel  and  a 
promise  of  coming  to  see  her  very  soon.  He  then 
called  his  man  to  put  the  old  white  horse  into  the 
chaise  and  drive  Sophy  back  to  the  mansion-house. 

When  the  Doctor  sat  down  to  his  sermon  again, 
it  looked  very  differently  from  the  way  it  had  looked 
at  the  moment  he  left  it.  When  he  came  to  think  of 
it,  he  did  not  feel  quite  so  sure  practically  about  that 
matter  of  the  utter  natural  selfishness  of  everybody. 
There  was  Letty,  now,  seemed  to  take  a  very  wnselfish 
interest  .in  that  old  black  woman,  and  indeed  in  poor 


246 


ELSIE    VENNER. 


people  generally ;  perhaps  it  would  not  be  too  much  to 
say  that  she  was  always  thinking  of  other  people.  He 
thought  he  had  seen  other  young  persons  naturally 
unselfish,  thoughtful  for  others;  it  seemed  to  be 
family  trait  in  some  he  had  known. 

But  most  of  all  he  was  exercised  about  this  poo 
girl  whose  story  Sophy  had  been  telling.     If  what  the 
old  woman  believed  was  true,  —  and  it  had  too  much 
semblance  of  probability,  —  what  became  of  his  the 
ory  of  ingrained  moral  obliquity  applied  to  such  a 
case?     If  by  the  visitation  of  God  a  person  receives 
any  injury  which  impairs  the  intellect  or  the  mo 
perceptions,  is  it  not  monstrous  to  judge  such  a  per 
son  by  our  common  working  standards  of  right  an 
wrong?     Certainly,   everybody  will  answer,   in  c 
where  there  is  a  palpable    organic   change   brough 
about,  as  when  a  blow  on  the  head  produces  insanity 
Fools !     How  long  will  it  be  before  we  shall  learn  th 
for  every  wound  which  betrays  itself  to  the  sight  b 
a  scar,  there  are  a  thousand  unseen  mutilations  th 
cripple,  each  of  them,  some  one  or  more  of  our  high 
est  faculties?     If  what  Sophy  told  and  believed  w; 
the  real  truth,  what  prayers  could  be  agonizing  enoug 
what  tenderness  could  be  deep  enough,  for  this  poor 
lost,  blighted,  hapless,  blameless  child  of  misfortun 
struck  by  such  a  doom  as  perhaps  no  living  creatu 
in  all  the  sisterhood  of  humanity  shared  with  her? 

The  minister  thought  these  matters  over  until  hi 
mind  was  bewildered  with  doubts  and  tossed  to  ai: 
fro  on  that  stormy  deep  of  thought  heaving  foreve 
beneath  the  conflict  of  windy  dogmas.     He  laid  by  hi 
old  sermon.     He  put  back  a  pile  of  old  commentate 
with  their  eyes  and  mouths  and  hearts  full  of  the  dus 
of  the  schools.     Then  he  opened  the  book  of  Genesi 


ELSIE   VENNER.  247 

at  the  eighteenth  chapter  and  read  that  remarkable 
argument  of  Abraham's  with  his  Maker  in  which  he 
boldly  appeals  to  first  principles.  He  took  as  his  text, 
"Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right?"  and 
began  to  write  his  sermon,  afterwards  so  famous,  — 
"  On  the  Obligations  of  an  Infinite  Creator  to  a  Finite 
Creature." 

It  astonished  the  good  people,  who  had  been  accus 
tomed  so  long  to  repeat  mechanically  their  Oriental 
hyperboles  of  self-abasement,  to  hear  their  worthy 
minister  maintaining  that  the  dignified  attitude  of  the 
old  Patriarch,  insisting  on  what  was  reasonable  and 
fair  with  reference  to  his  fellow-creatures,  was  really 
much  more  respectful  to  his  Maker,  and  a  great  deal 
manlier  and  more  to  his  credit,  than  if  he  had  yielded 
the  whole  matter,  and  pretended  that  men  had  not 
rights  as  well  as  duties.  The  same  logic  which  had 
carried  him  to  certain  conclusions  with  reference  to 
human  nature,  this  same  irresistible  logic  carried 
him  straight  on  from  his  text  until  he  arrived  at  those 
other  results,  which  not  only  astonished  his  people, 
as  was  said,  but  surprised  himself.  He  went  so  far 
in  defence  of  the  rights  of  man,  that  he  put  his  foot 
into  several  heresies,  for  which  men  had  been  burned 
so  often,  it  was  time,  if  ever  it  could  be,  to  acknow 
ledge  the  demonstration  of  the  argumentum  ad  ignem. 
He  did  not  believe  in  the  responsibility  of  idiots.  He 
did  not  believe  a  new-born  infant  was  morally  answer 
able  for  other  people's  acts.  He  thought  a  man  with 
a  crooked  spine  would  never  be  called  to  account  for 
not  walking  erect.  He  thought  if  the  crook  was  in 
his  brain,  instead  of  his  back,  he  could  not  fairly  be 
blamed  for  any  consequence  of  this  natural  defect, 
whatever  lawyers  or  divines  might  call  it.  He  argued, 


248  ELSIE   VENNER. 

that,  if  a  person  inherited  a  perfect  mind,  body,  and 
disposition,  and  had  perfect  teaching  from  infancy, 
that  person  could  do  nothing  more  than  keep  the 
moral  law  perfectly.  But  supposing  that  the  Crea 
tor  allows  a  person  to  be  born  with  an  hereditary  or 
ingrafted  organic  tendency,  and  then  puts  this  per 
son  into  the  hands  of  teachers  incompetent  or  posi 
tively  bad,  is  not  what  is  called  sin  or  transgression 
of  the  law  necessarily  involved  in  the  premises?  Is 
not  a  Creator  bound  to  guard  his  children  against  the 
ruin  which  inherited  ignorance  might  entail  on  them? 
Would  it  be  fair  for  a  parent  to  put  into  a  child's 
hands  the  title-deeds  to  all  its  future  possessions,  and 
a  bunch  of  matches?  And  are  not  men  children,  nay, 
babes,  in  the  eye  of  Omniscience?  —  The  minister 
grew  bold  in  his  questions.  Had  not  he  as  good  right 
to  ask  questions  as  Abraham? 

This  was  the  dangerous  vein  of  speculation  in  which 
the  Reverend  Doctor  Honeywood  found  himself  in 
volved,  as  a  consequence  of  the  suggestions  forced 
upon  him  by  old  Sophy's  communication.  The  truth 
was,  the  good  man  had  got  so  humanized  by  mixing 
up  with  other  people  in  various  benevolent  schemes, 
that,  the  very  moment  he  could  escape  from  his  old 
scholastic  abstractions,  he  took  the  side  of  humanity 
instinctively,  just  as  the  Father  of  the  Faithful  did, 
—  all  honor  be  to  the  noble  old  Patriarch  for  insist 
ing  on  the  worth  of  an  honest  man,  and  making  the 
best  terms  he  could  for  a  very  ill-conditioned  metrop 
olis,  which  might  possibly,  however,  have  contained 
ten  righteous  people,  for  whose  sake  it  should  be 
spared ! 

The  consequence  of  all  this  was,  that  he  was  in  a 
singular  and  seemingly  self-contradictory  state  of 


ELSIE   VENNER.  249 

mind  when  he  took  his  hat  and  cane  and  went  forth 
to  call  on  his  heretical  brother.  The  old  minister  \ 
took  it  for  granted  that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Fair- 
weather  knew  the  private  history  of  his  parishioner's 
family.  He  did  not  reflect  that  there  are  griefs  men 
never  put  into  words,  —  that  there  are  fears  which  must 
not  be  spoken,  —  intimate  matters  of  consciousness 
which  must  be  carried,  as  bullets  which  have  been 
driven  deep  into  the  living  tissues  are  sometimes  car 
ried,  for  a  whole  lifetime,  —  encysted  griefs,  if  we 
may  borrow  the  chirurgeon's  term,  never  to  be 
reached,  never  to  be  seen,  never  to  be  thrown  out,  but 
to  go  into  the  dust  with  the  frame  that  bore  them 
about  with  it,  during  long  years  of  anguish,  known 
only  to  the  sufferer  and  his  Maker.  Dudley  Yenner 
had  talked  with  his  minister  about  this  child  of  his. 
But  he  had  talked  cautiously,  feeling  his  way  for  sym 
pathy,  looking  out  for  those  indications  of  tact  and 
judgment  which  would  warrant  him  in  some  partial 
communication,  at  least,  of  the  origin  of  his  doubts 
and  fears,  and  never  finding  them. 

There  was  something  about  the  Reverend  Mr.  Fair- 
weather  which  repressed  all  attempts  at  confidential 
intercourse.  What  this  something  was,  Dudley  Ven- 
ner  could  hardly  say ;  but  he  felt  it  distinctly,  and  it 
sealed  his  lips.  He  never  got  beyond  certain  general 
ities  connected  with  education  and  religious  instruc 
tion.  The  minister  could  not  help  discovering,  how 
ever,  that  there  were  difficulties  connected  with  this 
girl's  management,  and  he  heard  enough  outside  of  the 
family  to  convince  him  that  she  had  manifested  ten 
dencies,  from  an  early  age,  at  variance  with  the  the 
oretical  opinions  he  was  in  the  habit  of  preaching,  and 
in  a  dim  way  of  holding  for  truth,  as  to  the  natural 
dispositions  of  the  human  being. 


250  ELSIE   VENNER. 

About  this  terrible  fact  of  congenital  obliquity  his 
new  beliefs  began  to  cluster  as  a  centre,  and  to  take 
form  as  a  crystal  around  its  nucleus.  Still,  he  might 
perhaps  have  struggled  against  them,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  little  Roman  Catholic  chapel  he  passed  every 
Sunday,  on  his  way  to  the  meeting-house.  Such  a 
crowd  of  worshippers,  swarming  into  the  pews  like 
bees,  filling  all  the  aisles,  running  over  at  the  door 
like  berries  heaped  too  full  in  the  measure, — some 
kneeling  on  the  steps,  some  standing  on  the  sidewalk, 
hats  off,  heads  down,  lips  moving,  some  looking  on 
devoutly  from  the  other  side  of  the  street !  Oh,  could 
he  have  followed  his  own  Bridget,  maid  of  all  work, 
into  the  heart  of  that  steaming  throng,  and  bowed  his 
head  while  the  priests  intoned  their  Latin  prayers! 
could  he  have  snuffed  up  the  cloud  of  frankincense, 
and  felt  that  he  was  in  the  great  ark  which  holds  the 
better  half  of  the  Christian  world,  while  all  around  it 
are  wretched  creatures,  some  struggling  against  the 
waves  in  leaky  boats,  and  some  on  ill-connected  rafts, 
and  some  with  their  heads  just  above  water,  thinking 
to  ride  out  the  flood  which  is  to  sweep  the  earth  clean 
of  sinners,  upon  their  own  private,  individual  life-pre 
servers  ! 

Such  was  the  present  state  of  mind  of  the  Reverend 
Chauncy  Fairweather,  when  his  clerical  brother  called 
upon  him  to  talk  over  the  questions  to  which  old  Sophy 
had  called  his  attention. 


CHAPTEK  XVIII. 

THE    REVEREND    DOCTOR     CALLS    ON     BROTHER   FATE" 
WEATHER. 

FOR  the  last  few  months,  while  all  these  various 
matters  were  going  on  in  Rockland,  the  Reverend 
Chauncy  Fairweather  had  been  busy  with  the  records 
of  ancient  councils  and  the  writings  of  the  early  fa 
thers.  The  more  he  read,  the  more  discontented  he 
became  with  the  platform  upon  which  he  and  his  peo 
ple  were  standing.  They  and  he  were  clearly  in  a 
minority,  and  his  deep  inward  longing  to  be  with  the 
majority  was  growing  into  an  engrossing  passion.  He 
yearned  especially  towards  the  good  old  unquestion 
ing,  authoritative  Mother  Church,  with  her  articles  of 
faith  which  took  away  the  necessity  for  private  judg 
ment,  with  her  traditional  forms  and  ceremonies,  and 
her  whole  apparatus  of  stimulants  and  anodynes. 

About  this  time  he  procured  a  breviary  and  kept  it 
in  his  desk  under  the  loose  papers.  He  sent  to  a 
Catholic  bookstore  and  obtained  a  small  crucifix  sus 
pended  from  a  string  of  beads.  He  ordered  his  new 
eoat  to  be  cut  very  narrow  in  the  collar  and  to  be 
made  single-breasted.  He  began  an  informal  series 
of  religious  conversations  with  Miss  O'Brien,  the 
young  person  of  Irish  extraction  already  referred  to 
as  Bridget,  maid  of  all  work.  These  not  proving 
very  satisfactory,  he  managed  to  fall  in  with  Father 
McShane,  the  Catholic  priest  of  the  Rockland  church. 


252         .  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Father  McShane  encouraged  his  nibble  very  scientif 
ically.  It  would  be  such  a  fine  thing  to  bring  over 
one  of  those  Protestant  heretics,  and  a  "liberal"  one 
too !  —  not  that  there  was  any  real  difference  between 
them,  but  it  sounded  better,  to  say  that  one  of  these 
rationalizing  free-and-equal  religionists  had  been  made 
a  convert  than  any  of  those  half-way  Protestants  who 
were  the  slaves  of  catechisms  instead  of  councils,  and 
of  commentators  instead  of  popes.  The  subtle  priest 
played  his  disciple  with  his  finest  tackle.  It  was 
hardly  necessary :  when  anything  or  anybody  wishes  to 
be  caught,  a  bare  hook  and  a  coarse  line  are  all  that 
is  needed. 

If  a  man  has  a  genuine,  sincere,  hearty  wish  to  get 
rid  of  his  liberty,  if  he  is  really  bent  upon  becoming 
a  slave,  nothing  can  stop  him.  And  the  temptation 

Iis  to  some  natures  a  very  great  one.  Liberty  is  often 
a  heavy  burden  on  a  man.  It  involves  that  necessity 
for  perpetual  choice  which  is  the  kind  of  labor  men 
have  always  dreaded.  In  common  life  we  shirk  it  by 
forming  habits,  which  take  the  place  of  self-determi 
nation.  In  politics  party-organization  saves  us  the 
pains  of  much  thinking  before  deciding  how  to  cast 
our  vote.  In  religious  matters  there  are  great  mul 
titudes  watching  us  perpetually,  each  propagandist 
ready  with  his  bundle  of  finalities,  which  having  ac 
cepted  we  may  be  at  peace.  The  more  absolute  the 
submission  demanded,  the  stronger  the  temptation  be 
comes  to  those  who  have  been  long  tossed  among 
doubts  and  conflicts. 

So  it  is  that  in  all  the  quiet  bays  which  indent  the 
shores  of  the  great  ocean  of  thought,  at  every  sink 
ing  wharf,  we  see  moored  the  hulks  and  the  razees 
of  enslaved  or  half -enslaved  intelligences.  They  rock 


ELSIE  VENNER.  253 

peacefully  as  children  in  their  cradles  on  the  subdued 
swell  which  comes  feebly  in  over  the  bar  at  the  har 
bor's  mouth,  slowly  crusting  with  barnacles,  pulling 
at  their  iron  cables  as  if  they  really  wanted  to  be  free, 
but  better  contented  to  remain  bound  as  they  are. 
For  these  no  more  the  round  unwalled  horizon  of  the 
open  sea,  the  joyous  breeze  aloft,  the  furrow,  the 
foam,  the  sparkle,  that  track  the  rushing  keel !  They 
have  escaped  the  dangers  of  the  wave,  and  lie  still 
henceforth,  evermore.  Happiest  of  souls,  if  lethargy 
is  bliss,  and  palsy  the  chief  beatitude! 

America  owes  its  political  freedom  to  religious 
Protestantism.  But  political  freedom  is  reacting  on 
religious  prescription  with  still  mightier  force.  We 
wonder,  therefore,  when  we  find  a  soul  which  was 
born  to  a  full  sense  of  individual  liberty,  an  unchal 
lenged  right  of  self-determination  on  every  new  alleged 
truth  offered  to  its  intelligence,  voluntarily  surren 
dering  any  portion  of  its  liberty  to  a  spiritual  dictator 
ship  which  always  proves  to  rest,  in  the  last  analysis, 
on  a  majority  vote,  nothing  more  nor  less,  commonly 
an  old  one,  passed  in  those  barbarous  tunes  when  men 
cursed  and  murdered  each  other  for  differences  of  opin 
ion,  and  of  course  were  not  in  a  condition  to  settle  the 
beliefs  of  a  comparatively  civilized  community. 

In  our  disgust,  we  are  liable  to  be  intolerant.  We 
forget  that  weakness  is  not  in  itself  a  sin.  We  forget 
that  even  cowardice  may  call  for  our  most  lenient  judg 
ment,  if  it  spring  from  innate  infirmity.  Who  of  us 
does  not  look  with  great  tenderness  on  the  young  chief 
tain  in  the  "Fair  Maid  of  Perth,"  when  he  confesses 
his  want  of  courage?  All  of  us  love  companionship 
and  sympathy ;  some  of  us  may  love  them  too  much. 
All  of  us  are  more  or  less  imaginative  in  our  theology. 


254  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Some  of  us  may  find  the  aid  of  material  symbols  a 
comfort,  if  not  a  necessity.     The  boldest  thinker  may 

/have  his  moments  of  languor  and  discouragement, 
when  he  feels  as  if  he  could  willingly  exchange  faiths 
with  the  old  beldame  crossing  herself  at  the  cathe 
dral-door,  —  nay,  that,  if  he  could  drop  all  coherent 
thought,  and  lie  in  the  flowery  meadow  with  the 
brown-eyed  solemnly  unthinking  cattle,  looking  up  to 
the  sky,  and  all  their  simple  consciousness  staining 
itself  blue,  then  down  to  the  grass,  and  life  turning  to 
a  mere  greenness,  blended  with  confused  scents  of 
herbs,  —  no  individual  mind-movement  such  as  men 
are  teased  with,  but  the  great  calm  cattle-sense  of 
all  time  and  all  places  that  know  the  milky  smell  of 
herds,  —  if  he  could  be  like  these,  he  would  be  content 
to  be  driven  home  by  the  cow-boy,  and  share  the 
grassy  banquet  of  the  king  of  ancient  Babylon.  Let 
us  be  very  generous,  then,  in  our  judgment  of  those 

/  who  leave  the  front  ranks  of  thought  for  the  company 

(  of  the  meek  non-combatants  who  follow  with  the  bag 
gage  and  provisions.  Age,  illness,  too  much  wear  and 

/  tear,-  a  half -formed  paralysis,  may  bring  any  of  us  to 
this  pass.  But  while  we  can  think  and  maintain  the 
rights  of  our  own  individuality  against  every  human 
combination,  let  us  not  forget  to  caution  all  who  are 
disposed  to  waver  that  there  is  a  cowardice  which  is 
criminal,  and  a  longing  for  rest  which  it  is  baseness 
to  indulge.  God  help  him,  over  whose  dead  soul  in 
his  living  body  must  be  uttered  the  sad  supplication, 
Requiescat  ipi  pace  I 

/^    j 

A  khos>#  at  the  Reverend  Mr.  Fairweather's  study- 
door  called  his  eyes  from  the  book  on  which  they  were 
intent.  He  looked  up,  as  if  expecting  a  welcome 
guest. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  255 

ie  Reverend  Pierrepont  Honey  wood,  D.  D.,  en- 
3red  the  study  of  the  Reverend  Chauncy  Fairweather. 
He  was  not  the  expected  guest.  Mr.  Fairweather 
slipped  the  book  he  was  reading  into  a  half -open 
drawer,  and  pushed  in  the  drawer.  He  slid  some 
thing  which  rattled  under  a  paper  lying  on  the  table. 
He  rose  with  a  slight  change  of  color,  and  welcomed, 
a  little  awkwardly,  his  unusual  visitor. 

"Good-evening,  Brother  Fairweather!"  said  the 
Reverend  Doctor,  in  a  very  cordial,  good-humored 
way.  "  I  hope  I  am  not  spoiling  one  of  those  eloquent 
sermons  I  never  have  a  chance  to  hear." 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  the  younger  clergyman 
answered,  in  a  languid  tone,  with  a  kind  of  habitual 
half -querulousness  which  belonged  to  it,  —  the  vocal 
expression  which  we  meet  with  now  and  then,  and 
which  says  as  plainly  as  so  many  words  could  say  it, 
"I  am  a  suffering  individual.  I  am  persistently  un 
dervalued,  wronged,  and  imposed  upon  by  mankind 
and  the  powers  of  the  universe  generally.  But  I 
endure  all.  I  endure  you.  Speak.  I  listen.  It  is  a 
burden  to  me,  but  I  even  approve.  I  sacrifice  myself. 
Behold  this  movement  of  my  lips!  It  is  a  smile." 

The  Reverend  Doctor  knew  this  forlorn  way  of  Mr,, 
Fairweather's,  and  was  not  troubled  by  it.  He  pro 
ceeded  to  relate  the  circumstances  of  his  visit  from  the 
old  black  woman,  and  the  fear  she  was  in  about  the 
young  girl,  who  being  a  parishioner  of  Mr.  Fair- 
weather's,  he  had  thought  it  best  to  come  over  and 
speak  to  him  about  old  Sophy's  fears  and  fancies. 

In  telling  the  old  woman's  story,  he  alluded  only 
vaguely  to  those  peculiar  circumstances  to  which  she 
had  attributed  so  much  importance,  taking  it  for 
granted  that  the  other  minister  must  be  familiar  with 


256  ELSIE   VENNER. 

the  whole  series  of  incidents  she  had  related.  The 
old  minister  was  mistaken,  as  we  have  before  seen. 
Mr.  Fairweather  had  been  settled  in  the  place  only 
about  ten  years,  and,  if  he  had  heard  a  strange  hint 
now  and  then  about  Elsie,  had  never  considered  it  as 
anything  more  than  idle  and  ignorant,  if  not  mali 
cious,  village-gossip.  All  that  he  fully  understood 
was  that  this  had  been  a  perverse  and  unmanageable 
child,  and  that  the  extraordinary  care  which  had  been 
bestowed  on  her  had  been  so  far  thrown  away  that  she 
was  a  dangerous,  self-willed  girl,  whom  all  feared  and 
almost  all  shunned,  as  if  she  carried  with  her  some 
malignant  influence. 

He  replied,  therefore,  after  hearing  the  story,  that 
Elsie  had  always  given  trouble.  There  seemed  to  be 
a  kind  of  natural  obliquity  about  her.  Perfectly  un 
accountable.  A  very  dark  case.  Never  amenable  to 
good  influences.  Had  sent  her  good  books  from  the 
Sunday-school  library.  Remembered  that  she  tore 
out  the  frontispiece  of  one  of  them,  and  kept  it,  and 
flung  the  book  out  of  the  window.  It  was  a  picture 
of  Eve's  temptation ;  and  he  recollected  her  saying  that 
Eve  was  a  good  woman,  —  and  she  'd  have  done  just 
so,  if  she  'd  been  there.  A  very  sad  child,  very  sad; 
bad  from  infancy.  —  He  had  talked  himself  bold,  and 
said  all  at  once,  — 

"Doctor,  do  you  know  I  am  almost  ready  to  accept 
your  doctrine  of  the  congenital  sinfulness  of  human 
nature?  I  am  afraid  that  is  the  only  thing  which 
goes  to  the  bottom  of  the  difficulty." 

The  old  minister's  face  did  not  open  so  approvingly 
as  Mr.  Fairweather  had  expected. 

"  Why,  yes,  —  well,  —  many  find  comfort  in  it,  —  I 
believe ;  —  there  is  much  to  be  said,  —  there  are  many 


ELSIE   VENNER.  257 

bad  people,  —  and  bad  children,  —  I  can't  be  so  sure 
about  bad  babies,  —  though  they  cry  very  malignantly 
at  times,  —  especially  if  they  have  the  stomach-ache. 
But  I  really  don't  know  how  to  condemn  this  poor 
Elsie ;  she  may  have  impulses  that  act  in  her  like  in 
stincts  in  the  lower  animals,  and  so  not  come  under 
the  bearing  of  our  ordinary  rules  of  judgment." 

"  But  this  depraved  tendency,  Doctor,  —  this  unac 
countable  perverseness.  My  dear  Sir,  I  am  afraid 
your  school  is  in  the  right  about  human  nature.  Oh, 
those  words  of  the  Psalmist,  'shapen  in  iniquity,'  and 
the  rest !  What  are  we  to  do  with  them,  —  we  who 
teach  that  the  soul  of  a  child  is  an  unstained  white 
tablet?" 

"King  David  was  very  subject  to  fits  of  humility, 
and  much  given  to  self-reproaches,"  said  the  Doctor, 
in  a  rather  dry  way.  "  We  owe  you  and  your  friends 
a  good  deal  for  calling  attention  to  the  natural  graces, 
which,  after  all,  may,  perhaps,  be  considered  as  an 
other  form  of  manifestation  of  the  divine  influence. 
'  Some  of  our  writers  have  pressed  rather  too  hard  on 
the  tendencies  of  the  human  soul  toward  evil  as  such. 
It  maybe  questioned  whether  these  views  have  not  in 
terfered  with  the  sound  training  of  certain  young  per 
sons,  sons  of  clergymen  and  others.  I  am  nearer  of 
your  mind  about  the  possibility  of  educating  children 
I-  so  that  they  shall  become  good  Christians  without  any 
violent  transition.  That  is  what  I  should  hope  for 
from  bringing  them  up  '  in  the  nurture  and  admonition 
of  the  Lord.'" 

The  younger  minister  looked  puzzled,  but  presently 
answered,  —  , 

"Possibly  we  may  have  called  attention  to  some 
neglected  truths ;  but,  after  all,  I  fear  we  must  go  to 


258  ELSIE   VENNER. 

the  old  school,  if  we  want  to  get  at  the  root  of  the 
matter.  I  know  there  is  an  outward  amiability  about 
many  young  persons,  some  young  girls  especially, 
that  seems  like  genuine  goodness;  but  I  have  been 
disposed  of  late  to  lean  toward  your  view,  that  these 
human  affections,  as  we  see  them  in  our  children,  — 
ours,  I  say,  though  I  have  not  the  fearful  responsibil 
ity  of  training  any  of  my  own,  —  are  only  a  kind  of 
disguised  and  sinful  selfishness." 

The  old  minister  groaned  in  spirit.  His  heart  had 
been  softened  by  the  sweet  influences  of  children  and 
grandchildren.  He  thought  of  a  half -sized  grave  in 
the  burial-ground,  and  the  fine,  brave,  noble-hearted 
boy  he  laid  in  it  thirty  years  before,  —  the  sweet, 
cheerful  child  who  had  made  his  home  all  sunshine 
until  the  day  when  he  was  brought  into  it,  his  long 
curls  dripping,  his  fresh  lips  purpled  in  death,  —  fool 
ish  dear  little  blessed  creature  to  throw  himself  into 
the  deep  water  to  save  the  drowning  boy,  who  clung 
about  him  and  carried  him  under !  Disguised  selfish 
ness!  And  his  granddaughter  too,  whose  disguised 
selfishness  was  the  light  of  his  household! 

"Don't  call  it  my  view!"  he  said.  "Abstractly, 
perhaps,  all  natures  may  be  considered  vitiated ;  but 
practically,  as  I  see  it  in  life,  the  divine  grace  keeps 
pace  with  the  perverted  instincts  from  infancy  in 
many  natures.  Besides,  this  perversion  itself  may 
often  be  disease,  bad  habits  transmitted,  like  drunk 
enness,  or  some  hereditary  misfortune,  as  with  this 
Elsie  we  were  talking  about." 

The  younger  minister  was  completely  mystified. 
At  every  step  he  made  towards  the  Doctor's  recognized 
theological  position,  the  Doctor  took  just  one  step 
towards  his.  They  would  cross  each  other  soon 


ELSIE  VENNER.  259 

this  rate,  and  might  as  well  exchange  pulpits,  —  as 
Colonel  Sprowle  once  wished  they  would,  it  may  be 
remembered. 

The  Doctor,  though  a  much  clearer-headed  man, 
was  almost  equally  puzzled.  He  turned  the  conver-  . 
sation  again  upon  Elsie,  and  endeavored  to  make  her 
minister  feel  the  importance  of  bringing  every  friendly 
influence  to  bear  upon  her  at  this  critical  period  of  her 
life.  His  sympathies  did  not  seem  so  lively  as  the 
Doctor  could  have  wished.  Perhaps  he  had  vastly 
more  important  objects  of  solicitude  in  his  own  spir 
itual  interests. 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  them.  The  Rev 
erend  Mr.  Fairweather  rose  and  went  towards  it.  As 
he  passed  the  table,  his  coat  caught  something,  which 
came  rattling  to  the  floor.  It  was  a  crucifix  with  a 
string  of  beads  attached.  As  he  opened  the  door, 
the  Milesian  features  of  Father  McShane  presented 
themselves,  and  from  their  centre  proceeded  the  cler 
ical  benediction  in  Irish-sounding  Latin,  Pax  vobis- 
cum  ! 

The  Reverend  Doctor  Honeywood  rose  and  left  the 
priest  and  his  disciple  together. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   SPIDER  ON   HIS   THREAD. 

THERE  was  nobody,  then,  to  counsel  poor  Elsie, 
except  her  father,  who  had  learned  to  let  her  have  her 
own  way  so  as  not  to  disturb  such  relations  as  they  had 
together,  and  the  old  black  woman,  who  had  a  real, 
though  limited  influence  over  the  girl.  Perhaps  she 
did  not  need  counsel.  To  look  upon  her,  one  might 
well  suppose  that  she  was  competent  to  defend  herself 
against  any  enemy  she  was  like  to  have.  That  glit 
tering,  piercing  eye  was  not  to  be  softened  by  a  few 
smooth  words  spoken  in  low  tones,  charged  with  the 
common  sentiments  which  win  their  way  to  maidens' 
hearts.  That  round,  lithe,  sinuous  figure  was  as  full 
of  dangerous  life  as  ever  lay  under  the  slender  flanks 
and  clean-shaped  limbs  of  a  panther. 

There  were  particular  times  when  Elsie  was  in  such  a 
mood  that  it  must  have  been  a  bold  person  who  would 
have  intruded  upon  her  with  reproof  or  counsel. ' 
"This  is  one  of  her  days,"  old  Sophy  would  say  quietly 
to  her  father,  and  he  would,  as  far  as  possible,  leave 
her  to  herself.  These  days  were  more  frequent,  as 
old  Sophy's  keen,  concentrated  watchfulness  had 
taught  her,  at  certain  periods  of  the  year.  It  was  in 
the  heats  of  summer  that  they  were  most  common  and 
most  strongly  characterized.  In  winter,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  was  less  excitable,  and  even  at  times  heavy 
and  as  if  chilled  and  dulled  in  her  sensibilities.  It 


ELSIE   VENNER.  261 

was  a  strange,  paroxysmal  kind  of  life  that  belonged 
to  her.  It  seemed  to  come  and  go  with  the  sunlight. 
All  winter  long  she  would  be  comparatively  quiet, 
easy  to  manage,  listless,  slow  in  her  motions ;  her  eye 
would  lose  something  of  its  strange  lustre ;  and  the 
old  nurse  would  feel  so  little  anxiety,  that  her  whole 
expression  and  aspect  would  show  the  change,  and 
people  would  say  to  her,  "Why,  Sophy,  how  young 
you're  looking! " 

As  the  spring  came  on,  Elsie  would  leave  the  fire 
side,  have  her  tiger-skin  spread  in  the  empty  southern 
chamber  next  the  wall,  and  lie  there  basking  for 
whole  hours  in  the  sunshine.  As  the  season  warmed, 
the  light  would  kindle  afresh  in  her  eyes,  and  the  old 
woman's  sleep  would  grow  restless  again, — for  she 
knew,  that,  so  long  as  the  glitter  was  fierce  in  the 
girl's  eyes,  there  was  no  trusting  her  impulses  or 
movements. 

At  last,  when  the  veins  of  the  summer  were  hot  and 
swollen,  and  the  juices  of  all  the  poison-plants  and 
the  blood  of  all  the  creatures  that  feed  upon  them  had 
grown  thick  and  strong,  —  about  the  time  when  the 
second  mowing  was  in  hand,  and  the  brown,  wet-faced 
k  men  were  following  up  the  scythes  as  they  chased  the 
falling  waves  of  grass,  (falling  as  the  waves  fall  on 
sickle -curved  beaches;  the  foam -flowers  dropping  as 
the  grass-flowers  drop,  —  with  sharp  semivowel  con 
sonantal  sounds,  — frsh,  —  for  that  is  the  way  the  sea 
talks,  and  leaves  all  pure  vowel-sounds  for  the  winds 
to  breathe  over  it,*  and  all  mutes  to  the  unyielding 
earth,)  —  about  this  time  of  over-ripe  midsummer,  the 
life  of  Elsie  seemed  fullest  of  its  malign  and  restless 
instincts.  This  was  the  period  of  the  year  when  the 
Rockland  people  were  most  cautious  of  wandering  in 


262  ELSIE   VENNER. 

the  leafier  coverts  which  skirted  the  base  of  The  Moun 
tain,  and  the  farmers  liked  to  wear  thick,  long  boots, 
whenever  they  went  into  the  bushes.  But  Elsie  was 
never  so  much  given  to  roaming  over  The  Mountain 
as  at  this  season ;  and  as  she  had  grown  more  absolute 
and  uncontrollable,  she  was  as  like  to  take  the  night 
as  the  day  for  her  rambles. 

At  this  season,  too,  all  her  peculiar  tastes  in  dress 
and  ornament  came  out  in  a  more  striking  way  than 
at  other  times.  She  was  never  so  superb  as  then,  and 
never  so  threatening  in  her  scowling  beauty.  The 
barred  skirts  she  always  fancied  showed  sharply  be 
neath  her  diaphanous  muslins;  the  diamonds  often 
glittered  on  her  breast  as  if  for  her  own  pleasure 
rather  than  to  dazzle  others;  the  asp-like  bracelet 
hardly  left  her  arm.  She  was  never  seen  without 
some  necklace,  —  either  the  golden  cord  she  wore  at 
the  great  party,  or  a  chain  of  mosaics,  or  simply  a 
ring  of  golden  scales.  Some  said  that  Elsie  always 
slept  in  a  necklace^  and  that  when  she  died  she  was 
to  be  buried  in  one.  It  was  a  fancy  of  hers,  —  but 
many  thought  there  was  a  reason  for  it. 

Nobody  watched  Elsie  with  a  more  searching  eye 
than  her  cousin,  Dick  Venner.  He  had  kept  more 
out  of  her  way  of  late,  it  is  true,  but  there  was  not 
a  movement  she  made  which  he  did  not  carefully  ob 
serve  just  so  far  as  he  could  without  exciting  her  sus 
picion.  It  was  plain  enough  to  him  that  the  road  to 
fortune  was  before  him,  and  that  the  first  thing  was 
to  marry  Elsie.  What  course  he  should  take  with 
her,  or  with  others  interested,  after  marrying  her, 
need  not  be  decided  in  a  hurry. 

He  had  now  done  all  he  could  expect  to  do  at  pres 
ent  in  the  way  of  conciliating  the  other  members  of 


ELSIE   VENlSfER.  263 

the  household.  The  girl's  father  tolerated  him,  if  he 
did  not  even  like  him.  Whether  he  suspected  his  pro 
ject  or  not  Dick  did  not  feel  sure ;  but  it  was  some 
thing  to  have  got  a  foothold  in  the  house,  and  to  have 
overcome  any  prepossession  against  him  which  his 
uncle  might  have  entertained.  To  be  a  good  listener 
and  a  bad  billiard-player  was  not  a  very  great  sac 
rifice  to  effect  this  object.  Then  old  Sophy  could 
hardly  help  feeling  well-disposed  towards  him,  after 
the  gifts  he  had  bestowed  on  her  and  the  court  he  had 
paid  her.  These  were  the  only  persons  on  the  place 
of  much  importance  to  gain  over.  The  people  em 
ployed  about  the  house  and  farm-lands  had  little  to 
do  with  Elsie,  except  to  obey  her  without  questioning 
her  commands. 

Mr.  Richard  began  to  think  of  reopening  his  sec 
ond  parallel.  But  he  had  lost  something  of  the  cool 
ness  with  which  he  had  begun  his  system  of  opera 
tions.  The  more  he  had  reflected  upon  the  matter, 
the  more  he  had  convinced  himself  that  this  was  his 
one  great  chance  in  life.  If  he  suffered  this  girl  to 
escape  him,  such  an  opportunity  could  hardly,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  present  itself  a  second  time.  Only 
one  life  between  Elsie  and  her  fortune,  —  and  lives 
are  so  uncertain!  The  girl  might  not  suit  him  as  a 
wife.  Possibly.  Time  enough  to  find  out  after  he 
had  got  her.  In  short,  he  must  have  the  property, 
and  Elsie  Venner,  as  she  was  to  go  with  it,  —  and 
then,  if  he  found  it  convenient  and  agreeable  to  lead 
a  virtuous  life,  he  would  settle  down  and  raise  chil 
dren  and  vegetables ;  but  if  he  found  it  inconvenient 
and  disagreeable,  so  much  the  worse  for  those  who 
made  it  so.  Like  many  other  persons,  he  was  not 
principled  against  virtue,  provided  virtue  were  a  bet- 


264  ELSIE   VENNER. 

ter  investment  than  its  opposite;  but  he  knew  ths 
there  might  be  contingencies  in  which  the  propert 
would  be  better  without  its  incumbrances,  and  he  coi 
templated  this  conceivable  problem  in  the  light  of 
its  possible  solutions. 

One  thing  Mr.  Richard  could  not  conceal  from  hii 
self:  Elsie  had  some  new  cause  of  indifference,  at 
least,  if  not  of  aversion  to  him.  With  the  acuteness 
which  persons  who  make  a  sole  business  of  their  own 
interest  gain  by  practice,  so  that  fortune.-hunters  are 
often  shrewd  where  real  lovers  are  terribly  simple,  he 
fixed  at  once  on  the  young  man  up  at  the  school  where 
the  girl  had  been  going  of  late,  as  probably  at  the 
bottom  of  it. 

"Cousin  Elsie  in  love!"  so  he  communed  with 
himself  upon  his  lonely  pillow.  "In  love  with  a 
Yankee  schoolmaster!  What  else  can  it  be?  Let 
him  look  out  for  himself!  He'll  stand  but  a  bad 
chance  between  us.  What  makes  you  think  she  's  in 
love  with  him?  Met  her  walking  with  him.  Don't 
like  her  looks  and  ways;  —  she's  thinking  about 
something,  anyhow.  Where  does  she  get  those  books 
she  is  reading  so  often  ?  Not  out  of  our  library,  that 's 
certain.  If  I  could  have  ten  minutes'  peep  into  her 
chamber  now,  I  would  find  out  where  she  got  them, 
and  what  mischief  she  was  up  to." 

At  that  instant,  as  if  some  tributary  demon  had 
heard  his  wish,  a  shape  which  could  be  none  but  El 
sie's  flitted  through  a  gleam  of  moonlight  into  the 
shadow  of  the  trees.  She  was  setting  out  on  one  of 
her  midnight  rambles. 

Dick  felt  his  heart  stir  in  its  place,  and  presently 
his  cheeks  flushed  with  the  old  longing  for  an  ad 
venture.  It  was  not  much  to  invade  a  young  girl's 


ELSIE   VENNER.  265 

deserted  chamber,  but  it  would  amuse  a  wakeful  hour, 
and  tell  him  some  little  matters  he  wanted  to  know. 
The  chamber  he  slept  in  was  over  the  room  which 
Elsie  chiefly  occupied  at  this  season.  There  was  no 
great  risk  of  his  being  seen  or  heard,  if  he  ventured 
down-stairs  to  her  apartment. 

Mr.  Richard  Venner,  in  the  pursuit  of  his  interest- 
ing  project,  arose  and  lighted  a  lamp.  He  wrapped 
himself  in  a  dressing-gown  and  thrust  his  feet  into  a 
pair  of  cloth  slippers.  He  stole  carefully  down  the 
stair,  and  arrived  safely  at  the  door  of  Elsie's  room. 

The  young  lady  had  taken  the  natural  precaution 
to  leave  it  fastened,  carrying  the  key  with  her,  no 
doubt,  —  unless,  indeed,  she  had  got  out  by  the  win 
dow,  which  was  not  far  from  the  ground.  Dick 
could  get  in  at  this  window  easily  enough,  but  he  did 
not  like  the  idea  of  leaving  his  footprints  in  the 
flower-bed  just  under  it.  He  returned  to  his  own 
chamber,  and  held  a  council  of  war  with  himself. 

He  put  his  head  out  of  his  own  window  and  looked 
at  that  beneath.  It  was  open.  He  then  went  to  one 
of  his  trunks,  which  he  unlocked,  and  began  carefully 
removing  its  contents.  What  these  were  we  need  not 
stop  to  mention,  —  only  remarking  that  there  were 
dresses  of  various  patterns,  which  might  afford  an 
agreeable  series  of  changes,  and  in  certain  contingen= 
cies  prove  eminently  useful.  After  removing  a  few  of 
these,  he  thrust  his  hand  to  the  very  bottom  of  the 
remaining  pile  and  drew  out  a  coiled  strip  of  leather 
many  yards  in  length,  ending  in  a  noose,  —  a  tough, 
well-seasoned  Zasso,  looking  as  if  it  had  seen  service 
and  was  none  the  worse  for  it.  He  uncoiled  a  few 
yards  of  this  and  fastened  it  to  the  knob  of  a  door. 
Then  he  threw  the  loose  end  out  of  the  window  so 


266  ELSIE   VENNER. 

that  it  should  hang  by  the  open  casement  of  Elsie's 
room.  By  this  he  let  himself  down  opposite  her  win 
dow,  and  with  a  slight  effort  swung  himself  inside  the 
room.  He  lighted  a  match,  found  a  candle,  and,  hav 
ing  lighted  that,  looked  curiously  about  him,  as  Clo- 
dius  might  have  done  when  he  smuggled  himself  in 
among  the  Vestals. 

Elsie's  room  was  almost  as  peculiar  as  her  dress 
and  ornaments.  It  was  a  kind  of  museum  of  objects, 
such  as  the  woods  are  full  of  to  those  who  have  eyes  to 
see  them,  but  many  of  them  such  as  only  few  could 
hope  to  reach,  even  if  they  knew  where  to  look  for 
them.  Crows'  nests,  which  are  never  found  but  in 
the  tall  trees,  commonly  enough  in  the  forks  of  an 
cient  hemlocks,  eggs  of  rare  birds,  which  must  have 
taken  a  quick  eye  and  a  hard  climb  to  find  and  get 
hold  of,  mosses  and  ferns  of  unusual  aspect,  and 
quaint  monstrosities  of  vegetable  growth,  such  as  Na 
ture  delights  in,  showed  that  Elsie  had  her  tastes  and 
fancies  like  any  naturalist  or  poet. 

Nature,  when  left  to  her  own  freaks  in  the  forest, 
is  grotesque  and  fanciful  to  the  verge  of  license,  and 
beyond  it.  The  foliage  of  trees  does  not  always  re 
quire  clipping  to  make  it  look  like  an  image  of  life. 
From  those  windows  at  Canoe  Meadow,  among  the 
mountains,  we  could  see  all  summer  long  a  lion  ram 
pant,  a  Shanghai  chicken,  and  General  Jackson  on 
horseback,  done  by  Nature  in  green  leaves,  each  with 
a  single  tree.  But  to  Nature's  tricks  with  boughs  and 
roots  and  smaller  vegetable  growths  there  is  no  end. 
Her  fancy  is  infinite,  and  her  humor  not  always  re 
fined.  There  is  a  perpetual  reminiscence  of  animal 
life  in  her  rude  caricatures,  which  sometimes  actually 
reach  the  point  of  imitating  the  complete  human  fig- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  267 

are,  as  in  that  extraordinary  specimen  which  nobody 
will  believe  to  be  genuine,  except  the  men  of  science, 
and  of  which  the  discreet  reader  may  have  a  glimpse 
by  application  in  the  proper  quarter. 

Elsie  had  gathered  so  many  of  these  sculpture-like 
monstrosities,  that  one  might  have  thought  she  had 
robbed  old  Sophy's  grandfather  of  his  fetishes.  They 
helped  to  give  her  room  a  kind  of  enchanted  look,  as 
if  a  witch  had  her  home  in  it.  Ove^*  the  fireplace  was 
a  long,  staff-like  branch,  strangled  in  the  spiral  coils 
of  one  of  those  vines  which  strain  the  smaller  trees  in 
their  clinging  embraces,  sinking  into  the  bark  until 
the  parasite  becomes  almost  identified  with  its  support. 
Wi^h  -these  sylvan  curiosities  were  blended  objects  of 
art,  some  of  them  not  less  singular,  but  others  show 
ing  a  love  for  the  beautiful  in  form  and  color,  such 
as  a  girl  of  fine  organization  and  nice  culture  might 
.naturally  be  expected  to  feel  and  to  indulge,  in 
adorning  her  apartment. 

All  these  objects,  pictures,  bronzes,  vases,  and  the 
rest,  did  not  detain  Mr.  Richard  Venner  very  long, 
whatever  may  have  been  his  sensibilities  to  art.  He 
was  more  curious  about  books  and  papers.  A  copy 
of  Keats  lay  on  the  table.  He  opened  it  and  read 
the  name  of  Bernard  C.  Langdon  on  the  blank  leaf. 
An  envelope  was  on  the  table  with  Elsie's  name  writ 
ten  in  a  similar  hand;  but  the  envelope  was  empty, 
and  he  could  not  find  the  note  it  contained.  Her 
desk  was  locked,  and  it  would  not  be  safe  to  tamper 
with  it.  He  had  seen  enough ;  the  girl  received  books 
and  notes  from  this  fellow  up  at  the  school,  —  this 
usher,  this  Yankee  quill-driver ;  —  he  was  aspiring  to 
become  the  lord  of  the  Dudley  domain,  then,  was  he? 

Elsie  had  been  reasonably  careful.     She  had  locked 


208  ELSIE   VENNER. 

up  her  papers,  whatever  they  might  be.  There  was 
little  else  that  promised  to  reward  his  curiosity,  but  he 
cast  his  eye  on  everything.  There  was  a  clasp -Bible 
among  her  books.  Dick  wondered  if  she  ever  un 
clasped  it.  There  was  a  book  of  hymns ;  it  had  her 
name  in  it,  and  looked  as  if  it  might  have  been  often 
read;  —  what  the  diablo  had  Elsie  to  do  with  hymns? 

Mr.  Richard  Vernier  was  in  an  observing  and  an 
alytical  state  of  mind,  it  will  be  noticed,  or  he  mighu 
perhaps  have  been  touched  with  the  innocent  betrayals 
of  the  poor  girl's  chamber.  Had  she,  after  all,  some 
human  tenderness  in  her  heart?  That  was  not  the 
way  he  put  the  question,  —  but  whether  she  would  take 
seriously  to  this  schoolmaster,  and  if  she  did,  what 
)  would  be  the  neatest  and  surest  and  quickest  way  of 
putting  a  stop  to  all  that  nonsense.  All  this,  how 
ever,  he  could  think  over  more  safely  in  his  own  quar 
ters.  So  he  stole  softly  to  the  window,  and,  catching 
the  end  of  the  leathern  thong,  regained  his  own  cham 
ber  and  drew  in  the  lasso. 

It  needs  only  a  little  jealousy  to  set  a  man  on  who 
is  doubtful  in  love  or  wooing,  or  to  make  him  take 
hold  of  his  courting  in  earnest.  As  soon  as  Dick  had 
satisfied  himself  that  the  young  schoolmaster  was  his 
rival  in  Elsie's  good  graces,  his  whole  thoughts  con 
centrated  themselves  more  than  ever  on  accomplishing 
his  great  design  of  securing  her  for  himself.  There 
was  no  time  to  be  lost.  He  must  come  into  closer  re 
lations  with  her,  so  as  to  withdraw  her  thoughts  from 
this  fellow,  and  to  find  out  more  exactly  what  was  the 
state  of  her  affections,  if  she  had  any.  So  he  began 
to  court  her  company  again,  to  propose  riding  with 
her,  to  sing  to  her,  to  join  her  whenever  she  was  stroll 
ing  about  the  grounds,  to  make  himself  agreeable,  ac« 


ELSIE    VENNER.  269 

lording  to  the  ordinary  understanding  of  that  phrase, 
'n  every  way  which  seemed  to  promise  a  chance  for 
-ucceeding  in  that  amiable  effort. 

The  girl  treated  him  more  capriciously  than  ever. 
She  would  be  sullen  and  silent,  or  she  would  draw 
jack  fiercely  at  some  harmless  word  or  gesture,  or  she 
vould  look  at  him  with  her  eyes  narrowed  in  such  a 
strange  way  and  with  such  a  wicked  light  in  them  that 
Dick  swore  to  himself  they  were  too  much  for  him, 
ind  would  leave  her  for  the  moment.  Yet  she  toler- 
ited  him,  almost  as  a  matter  of  necessity,  and  some- 
dines  seemed  to  take  a  kind  of  pleasure  in  trying  her 
power  upon  him.  This  he  soon  found  out,  and  hu 
mored  her  in  the  fancy  that  she  could  exercise  a  kind 
of  fascination  over  him,  —  though  there  were  times  in 
which  he  actually  felt  an  influence  he  could  not  un 
derstand,  an  effect  of  some  peculiar  expression  about 
'her,  perhaps,  but  still  centring  in  those^diamond  eyes 
of  hers  which  it  made  one  feel  so  curiously  to  look 
into. 

Whether  Elsie  saw  into  his  object  or  not  was  more 
than  he  could  tell.  His  idea  was,  after  having  con 
ciliated  the  good-will  of  all  about  her  as  far  as  possi 
ble,  to  make  himself  first  a  habit  and  then  a  necessity 
with  the  girl,  —  not  to  spring  any  trap  of  a  declara 
tion  upon  her  until  tolerance  had  grown  into  such  a 
degree  of  inclination  as  her  nature  was  like  to  admit. 
He  had  succeeded  in  the  first  part  of  his  plan.  He 
was  at  liberty  to  prolong  his  visit  at  his  own  pleasure. 
This  was  not  strange;  these  three  persons,  Dudley 
Veiiner,  his  daughter,  and  his  nephew,  represented 
all  that  remained  of  an  old  and  honorable  family. 
Had  Elsie  been  like  other  girls,  her  father  might  have 
been  less  willing  to  entertain  a  young  fellow  like  Dick 


270  ELSIE   VENDER. 

as  an  inmate;  but  he  had  long  outgrown  all  the 
slighter  apprehensions  which  he  might  have  had  in 
common  with  all  parents,  and  followed  rather  than 
led  the  imperious  instincts  of  his  daughter.  It  was 
not  a  question  of  sentiment,  but  of  life  and  death,  or 
more  than  that,  —  some  dark  ending,  perhaps,  which 
would  close  the  history  of  his  race  with  disaster  and 
evil  report  upon  the  lips  of  all  coming  generations. 

As  to  the  thought  of  his  nephew's  making  love  to 
his  daughter,  it  had  almost  passed  from  his  mind.  He 
had  been  so  long  in  the  habit  of  looking  at  Elsie  as 
outside  of  all  common  influences  and  exceptional  hi 
the  law  of  her  nature,  that  it  was  difficult  for  him  to 
think  of  her  as  a  girl  to  be  fallen  in  love  with. 
Many  persons  are  surprised,  when  others  court  their 
female  relatives;  they  know  them  as  good  young  or 
old  women  enough,  —  aunts,  sisters,  nieces,  daughters, 
whatever  they  may  be,  —  but  never  think  of  anybody's 
falling  in  love  with  them,  any  more  than  of  their  be 
ing  struck  by  lightning.  But  in  this  case  there  were 
special  reasons,  in  addition  to  the  common  family  de 
lusion,  —  reasons  which  seemed  to  make  it  impossible 
that  she  should  attract  a  suitor.  Who  would  dare 
to  marry  Elsie?  No,  let  her  have  the  pleasure,  if  it 
was  one,  at  any  rate  the  wholesome  excitement,  of 
companionship;  it  might  save  her  from  lapsing  into 
melancholy  or  a  worse  form  of  madness.  Dudley 
Venner  had  a  kind  of  superstition,  too,  that,  if  Elsie 
could  only  outlive  three  septenaries,  twenty-one  years, 
so  that,  according  to  the  prevalent  idea,  her  whole 
frame  would  have  been  thrice  made  over,  counting 
from  her  birth,  she  would  revert  to  the  natural  stand 
ard  of  health  of  mind  and  feelings  from  which  she  had 
been  so  long  perverted.  The  thought  of  any  other 


ELSIE  VT:NNER.  271 

motive  than  love  being  sufficient  to  induce  Kichard  to 
become  her  suitor  had  not  occurred  to  him.  He  had 
married  early,  at  that  happy  period  when  interested 
motives  are  least  apt  to  influence  the  choice ;  and  his 
single  idea  of  marriage  was,  that  it  was  the  union  of 
persons  naturally  drawn  towards  each  other  by  some 
mutual  attraction.  Very  simple,  perhaps;  but  he 
had  lived  lonely  for  many  years  since  his  wife's  death, 
and  judged  the  hearts  of  others,  most  of  all  of  his 
brother's  son,  by  his  own.  He  had  often  thought 
whether,  in  case  of  Elsie's  dying  or  being  necessarily 
doomed  to  seclusion,  he  might  not  adopt  this  nephew 
and  make  him  his  heir ;  but  it  had  not  occurred  to  him 
that  Richard  might  wish  to  become  his  son-in-law  for 
the  sake  of  his  property. 

It  is  very  easy  to  criticise  other  people's  modes  of 
dealing  with  their  children.  Outside  observers  see 
results ;  parents  see  processes.  They  notice  the  trivial 
movements  and  accents  which  betray  the  blood  of  this 
or  that  ancestor;  they  can  detect  the  irrepressible 
movement  of  hereditary  impulse  in  looks  and  acts 
which  mean  nothing  to  the  common  observer.  To 
be  a  parent  is  almost  to  be  a  fatalist.  This  boy  sits 
with  legs  crossed,  just  as  his  uncle  used  to  whom  he 
never  saw;  his  grandfathers  both  died  before  he  was 
born,  but  he  has  the  movement  of  the  eyebrows  which 
we  remember  in  one  of  them,  and  the  gusty  temper  of 
the  other. 

These  are  things  parents  can  see,  and  which  they 
must  take  account  of  in  education,  but  which  few 
except  parents  can  be  expected  to  really  understand. 
Here  and  there  a  sagacious  person,  old,  or  of  middle 
age,  who  has  triangulated  a  race,  that  is,  taken  three 
or  more  observations  from  the  several  standing-places 


272  ELSIE  VENNER. 

of  three  different  generations,  can  tell  pretty  nearly 
the  range  of  possibilities  and  the  limitations  of  a  child, 
actual  or  potential,  of  a  given  stock,  —  errors  excepted 
always,  because  children  of  the  same  stock  are  not 
bred  just  alike,  because  the  traits  of  some  less  known 
ancestor  are  liable  to  break  out  at  any  time,  and  be 
cause  each  human  being  has,  after  all,  a  small  fraction 
of  individuality  about  him  which  gives  him  a  flavor, 
so  that  he  is  distinguishable  from  others  by  Jus  friends 
or  in  a  court  of  justice,  and  which  occasionally  makes 
a  genius  or  a  saint  or  a  criminal  of  him.  It  is  well 
that  young  persons  cannot  read  these  fatal  oracles  of 
Nature.  Blind  impulse  is  her  highest  wisdom,  after 
all.  We  make  our  great  jump,  and  then  she  takes 
the  bandage  off  our  eyes.  That  is  the  way  the  broad 
sea-level  of  average  is  maintained,  and  the  physiolo 
gical  democracy  is  enabled  to  fight  against  the  princi 
ple  of  selection  which  would  disinherit  all  the  weaker 
children.  The  magnificent  constituency  of  mediocri 
ties  of  which  the  world  is  made  up,  —  the  people 
without  biographies,  whose  lives  have  made  a  clear 
solution  in  the  fluid  menstruum  of  time,  instead  of 
being  precipitated  in  the  opaque  sediment  of  his 
tory— 

But  this  is  a  narrative,  and  not  a  disquisition. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FROM  WITHOUT  AND  FROM  WITHIN. 

THERE  were  not  wanting  people  who  accused  Dud 
ley  Venner  of  weakness  and  bad  judgment  in  his  treat 
ment  of  his  daughter.  Some  were  of  opinion  that  the 
great  mistake  was  in  not  "breaking  her  will"  when 
she  was  a  little  child.  There  was  nothing  the  matter 
with  her,  they  said,  but  that  she  had  been  spoiled  by 
indulgence.  If  they  had  had  the  charge  of  her,  they  'd 
have  brought  her  down.  She  'd  got  the  upperhand  of 
her  father  now;  but  if  he  'd  only  taken  hold  of  her  in 
season !  There  are  people  who  think  that  everything 
may  be  done,  if  the  doer,  be  he  educator  or  physician, 
be  only  called  "in  season."  No  doubt, — but  in 
season  would  often  be  a  hundred  or  two  years  before 
the  child  was  born ;  and  people  never  send  so  early  as 
that. 

The  father  of  Elsie  Venner  knew  his  duties  and  his 
difficulties  too  well  to  trouble  himself  about  anything 
others  might  think  or  say.  So  soon  as  he  found  that 
he  could  not  govern  his  child,  he  gave  his  life  up  te~ 
following  her  and  protecting  her  as  far  as  he  could.  It 
was  a  stern  and  terrible  trial  for  a  man  of  acute  sen 
sibility,  and  not  without  force  of  intellect  and  will, 
and  the  manly  ambition  for  himself  and  his  family- 
name  which  belonged  to  his  endowments  and  his  posi 
tion.  Passive  endurance  is  the  hardest  trial  to  per 
sons  of  such  a  nature. 


274  ELSIE   VENNER. 

What  made  it  still  more  a  long  martyrdom  was  the 
necessity  for  bearing  his  cross  in  utter  loneliness. 
He  could  not  tell  his  griefs.  He  could  not  talk  of 
them  even  with  those  who  knew  their  secret  spring. 
His  minister  had  the  unsympathetic  nature  which  is 
common  in  the  meaner  sort  of  devotees,  —  persons  who 
mistake  spiritual  selfishness  for  sanctity,  and  grab  at 
the  infinite  prize  of  the  great  Future  and  Elsewhere 
with  the  egotism  they  excommunicate  in  its  hardly 
more  odious  forms  of  avarice  and  self-indulgence. 
How  could  he  speak  with  the  old  physician  and  the 
old  black  woman  about  a  sorrow  and  a  terror  which 
but  to  name  was  to  strike  dumb  the  lips  of  Consola 
tion? 

In  the  dawn  of  his  manhood  he  had  found  that  sec 
ond  consciousness  for  which  young  men  and  young 
women  go  about  looking  into  each  other's  faces,  with 
their  sweet,  artless  aim  playing  in  every  feature,  and 
making  them  beautiful  to  each  other,  as  to  all  of  us. 
He  had  found  his  other  self  early,  before  he  had  grown 
weary  in  the  search  and  wasted  his  freshness  in  vain 
longings:  the  lot  of  many,  perhaps  we  may  say  of 
most,  who  infringe  the  patent  of  our  social  order  by 
intruding  themselves  into  a  life  already  upon  half  al 
lowance  of  the  necessary  luxuries  of  existence.  The 
life  he  had  led  for  a  brief  space  was  not  only  beautiful 
in  outward  circumstance,  as  old  Sophy  had  described 
it  to  the  Reverend  Doctor.  It  was  that  delicious 
process  of  the  tuning  of  two  souls  to  each  other,  string 
by  string,  not  without  little  half -pleasing  discords  now 
and  then  when  some  chord  in  one  or  the  other  proves 
to  be  overstrained  or  over-lax,  but  always  approach 
ing  nearer  and  nearer  to  harmony,  until  they  become 
at  last  as  two  instruments  with  a  single  voice.  Some- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  275 

thing  more  than  a  year  of  this  blissful  doubled  con 
sciousness  had  passed  over  him  when  he  found  himself 
once  more  alone,  —  alone,  save  for  the  little  diamond- 
eyed  child  lying  in  the  old  black  woman's  arms,  with 
the  coral  necklace  round  her  throat  and  the  rattle  in 
her  hand. 

He  would  not  die  by  his  own  act.  It  was  not  the 
way  in  his  family.  There  may  have  been  other,  per 
haps  better  reasons,  but  this  was  enough ;  he  did  not 
come  of  suicidal  stock.  He  must  live  for  this  child's 
sake,  at  any  rate ;  and  yet,  —  oh,  yet,  who  could  tell 
with  what  thoughts  he  looked  upon  her?  Sometimes 
her  little  features  would  look  placid,  and  something 
like  a  smile  would  steal  over  them ;  then  all  his  tender 
feelings  would  rush  up  into  his  eyes,  and  he  would 
put  his  arms  out  to  take  her  from  the  old  woman, 
—  but  all  at  once  her  eyes  would  narrow  and  she 
i  would  throw  her  head  back,  and  a  shudder  would 
:  seize  him  as  he  stooped  over  his  child,  —  he  could  not 
1  look  upon  her,  —  he  could  not  touch  his  lips  to  her 
cheek ;  nay,  there  would  sometimes  come  into  his  soul 
such  frightful  suggestions  that  he  would  hurry  from 
the  room  lest  the  hinted  thought  should  become  a  mo 
mentary  madness  and  he  should  lift  his  hand  against 
the  hapless  infant  which  owed  him  life. 

In  those  miserable  days  he  used  to  wander  all  over 
The  Mountain  in  his  restless  endeavor  to  seek  some 
relief  for  inward  suffering  in  outward  action.  He 
had  no  thought  of  throwing  himself  from  the  summit 
of  any  of  the  broken  cliffs,  but  he  clambered  over 
them  recklessly,  as  having  no  particular  care  for  his 
life.  Sometimes  he  would  go  into  the  accursed  dis 
trict  where  the  venomous  reptiles  were  always  to  be 
dreaded,  and  court  their  worst  haunts,  and  kill  all  he 


276  ELSIE   VENNER. 

could  come  near  with  a  kind  of  blind  fury  which  was 
strange  in  a  person  of  his  gentle  nature. 

One  overhanging  cliff  was  a  favorite  haunt  of  his. 
It  frowned  upon  his  home  beneath  in  a  very  menacing 
way ;  he  noticed  slight  seams  and  fissures  that  looked 
ominous ;  —  what  would  happen,  if  it  broke  off  some 
time  or  other  and  came  crashing  down  on  the  fields 
and  roofs  below?  He  thought  of  such  a  possible  ca 
tastrophe  with  a  singular  indifference,  in  fact  with  a 
feeling  almost  like  pleasure.  It  would  be  such  a  swift 
and  thorough  solution  of  this  great  problem  of  life 
he  was  working  out  in  ever-recurring  daily  anguish! 
The  remote  possibility  of  such  a  catastrophe  had 
frightened  some  timid  dwellers  beneath  The  Mountain 
to  other  places  of  residence ;  here  the  danger  was  most 
imminent,  and  yet  he  loved  to  dwell  upon  the  chances 
of  its  occurrence.  Danger  is  often  the  best  counter- 
irritant  in  cases  of  mental  suffering ;  he  found  a  solace 
in  careless  exposure  of  his  life,  and  learned  to  endure 
the  trials  of  each  day  better  by  dwelling  in  imagina 
tion  on  the  possibility  that  it  might  be  the  last  for  him 
and  the  home  that  was  his. 

Time,  the  great  consoler,  helped  these  influences, 
and  he  gradually  fell  into  more  easy  and  less  danger 
ous  habits  of  life.  He  ceased  from  his  more  perilous 
rambles.  He  thought  less  of  the  danger  from  the 
great  overhanging  rocks  and  forests ;  they  had  hung 
there  for  centuries ;  it  was  not  very  likely  they  would 
crash  or  slide  in  his  time.  He  became  accustomed  to 
all  Elsie's  strange  looks  and  ways.  Old  Sophy  dressed 
her  with  ruffles  round  her  neck,  and  hunted  up  the  red 
coral  branch  with  silver  bells  which  the  little  toothless 
Dudleys  had  bitten  upon  for  a  hundred  years.  By 
an  infinite  effort,  her  father  forced  himself  to  become 


ELSIE   VENNEB 

the  companion  of  this  child,  for  whom  he  had  such  a 
mingled  feeling,  but  whose  presence  was  always  a  trial 
to  him,  and  often  a  terror. 

At  a  cost  which  no  human  being  could  estimate,  he 
had  done  his  duty,  and  in  some  degree  reaped  his  re 
ward.     Elsie  grew  up  with  a  kind  of  filial  feeling  for 
him,  such  as  her  nature  was  capable  of.     She  never 
would  obey  him ;  that  was  not  to  be  looked  for.     Com 
mands,  threats,   punishments,  were  out  of  the  ques 
tion  with  her;  the  mere  physical  effects  of  crossing 
her  will  betrayed   themselves  in  such  changes  of  ex 
pression  and  manner  that  it  would  have  been  senseless 
to  attempt  to  govern  her  in  any  such  way.     Leaving 
her  mainly  to  herself,  she  could  be  to  some  extent  in- 
:  directly  influenced,  —  not  otherwise.     She  called  her 
'  father  "Dudley,"  as  if  he  had  been  her  brother.     She 
f  ordered  everybody  and  would  be  ordered  by  none. 

Who  could  know  all  these  things,  except  the  few 
!j  people  of  the  household?     What  wonder,  therefore, 
I  that  ignorant  and  shallow  persons  laid  the  blame  on 
iher  father  of   those  peculiarities  which  were  freely 
talked  about,  —  of  those  darker  tendencies  which  were 
hinted  of  in  whispers?     To  all  this  talk,  so  far  as  it 
'  reached  him,  he  was  supremely  indifferent,  not  only 
;  with  the  indifference  which  all  gentlemen  feel  to  the 
'  gossip  of  their  inferiors,  but  with  a  charitable  calm- 
f  ness  which  did  not  wonder  or  blame.     He  knew  that 
his  position  was  not  simply  a  difficult,  but  an  impossi- 
jble  one,  and  schooled  himself  to  bear  his  destiny  as 
|  well  as  he  might,  and  report  himself  only  at  Head 
quarters. 

He  had  grown  gentle  under  this  discipline.  His 
hair  was  just  beginning  to  be  touched  with  silver,  and 
his  expression  was  that  of  habitual  sadness  and  anx- 


278  ELSIE  VENNEE. 

iety.  He  had  no  counsellor,  as  we  have  seen,  to  turn 
to,  who  did  not  know  either  too  much  or  too  little. 
He  had  no  heart  to  rest  upon  and  into  which  he  might 
unburden  himself  of  the  secrets  and  the  sorrows  that 
were  aching  in  his  own  breast.  Yet  he  had  not  air 
lowed  himself  to  run  to  waste  in  the  long  time  since 
he  was  left  alone  to  his  trials  and  fears.  He  had  re 
sisted  the  seductions  which  always  beset  solitary  men 
with  restless  brains  overwrought  by  depressing  agen 
cies.  He  disguised  no  misery  to  himself  with  the  lying 
delusion  of  wine.  He  sought  no  sleep  from  narcotics, 
though  he  lay  with  throbbing,  wide-open  eyes  through 
all  the  weary  hours  of  the  night. 

It  was  understood  between  Dudley  Vernier  and  old 
Doctor  Kittredge  that  Elsie  was  a  subject  of  occa 
sional  medical  observation,  on  account  of  certain  men 
tal  peculiarities  which  might  end  in  a  permanent  af 
fection  of  her  reason.  Beyond  this  nothing  was  said, 
whatever  may  have  been  in  the  mind  of  either.  But 
Dudley  Venner  had  studied  Elsie's  case  in  the  light 
of  all  the  books  he  could  find  which  might  do  anything 
towards  explaining  it.  As  in  all  cases  where  men 
meddle  with  medical  science  for  a  special  purpose, 
having  no  previous  acquaintance  with  it,  his  imagina 
tion  found  what  it  wanted  in  the  books  he  read,  and 
adjusted  it  to  the  facts  before  him.  So  it  was  he 
came  to  cherish  those  two  fancies  before  alluded  to: 
that  the  ominous  birthmark  she  had  carried  from  in 
fancy  might  fade  and  become  obliterated,  and  that 
the  age  of  complete  maturity  might  be  signalized  by 
an  entire  change  in  her  physical  and  mental  state. 
Pie  held  these  vague  hopes  as  all  of  us  nurse  our  only 
half -believed  illusions.  Not  for  the  world  would  he 
have  questioned  his  sagacious  old  medical  friend  as  to 


ELSIE   VENNER.  279 

the  probability  or  possibility  of  their  being  true.  We 
are  very  shy  of  asking  questions  of  those  who  know 
enough  to  destroy  with  one  word  the  hopes  we  live  on. 
In  this  life  of  comparative  seclusion  to  which  the 
father  had  doomed  himself  for  the  sake  of  his  child, 
he  had  found  time  for  large  and  varied  reading. 
The  learned  Judge  Thornton  confessed  himself  sur 
prised  at  the  extent  of  Dudley  Venner's  information. 
Doctor  Kittredge  found  that  he  was  in  advance  of 
him  in  the  knowledge  of  recent  physiological  discover 
ies.  He  had  taken  pains  to  become  acquainted  with 
agricultural  chemistry;  and  the  neighboring  farmers 
owed  him  some  useful  hints  about  the  management 
of  their  land.  He  renewed  his  old  acquaintance  with 
the  classic  authors.  He  loved  to  warm  his  pulses 
with  Homer  and  calm  them  down  with  Horace.  He 
received  all  manner  of  new  books  and  periodicals, 
and  gradually  gained  an  interest  in  the  events  of  the 
passing  time.  Yet  he  remained  almost  a  hermit,  not 
absolutely  refusing  to  see  his  neighbors,  nor  even 
churlish  towards  them,  but  on  the  other  hand  not  cul- 
tiynting  any  intimate  relations  with  them. 
if  He  had  retired  from  the  world  a  young  man,  little 
more  than  a  youth,  indeed,  with  sentiments  and  aspi 
rations  all  of  them  suddenly  extinguished.  The  first 
had  bequeathed  him  a  single  huge  sorrow,  the  second 
a  single  trying  duty.  In  due  time  the  anguish  had 
lost  something  of  its  poignancy,  the  light  of  earlier 
and  happier  memories  had  begun  to  struggle  with  and 
to  soften  its  thick  darkness,  and  even  that  duty  which 
he  had  confronted  with  such  an  effort  had  become  an 
endurable  habit. 

At  a  period  of  life  when  many  have  been  living  on 
the  capital  of  their  acquired  knowledge  and  their  youth- 


280  ELSIE   VENNER. 

ful  stock  of  sensibilities  until  their  intellects  are  really 
shallower  and  their  hearts  emptier  than  they  were  at 
twenty,  Dudley  Venner  was  stronger  in  thought  and 
tenderer  in  soul  than  in  the  first  freshness  of  his 
youth,  when  he  counted  but  half  his  present  years. 
He  had  entered  that  period  which  marks  the  decline 
of  men  who  have  ceased  growing  in  knowledge  and 
strength:  from  forty  to  fifty  a  man  must  move  up 
ward,  or  the  natural  falling  off  in  the  vigor  of  life  will 
carry  him  rapidly  downward.  At  this  time  his  in 
ward  nature  was  richer  and  deeper  than  in  any  earlier 
period  of  his  life.  If  he  could  only  be  summoned  to 
action,  he  was  capable  of  noble  service.  If  his  sym 
pathies  could  only  find,  an  outlet,  he  was  never  so 
capable  of  love  as  now ;  for  his  natural  affections  had 
been  gathering  in  the  course  of  all  these  years,  and 
the  traces  of  that  ineffaceable  calamity  of  his  life  were 
softened  and  partially  hidden  by  new  growths  of 
thought  and  feeling,  as  the  wreck  left  by  a  mountain- 
slide  is  covered  over  by  the  gentle  intrusion  of  the 
soft-stemmed  herbs  which  will  prepare  it  for  the 
stronger  vegetation  that  will  bring  it  once  more  into 
harmony  with  the  peaceful  slopes  around  it. 

Perhaps  Dudley  Venner  had  not  gained  so  much  in 
worldly  wisdom  as  if  he  had  been  more  in  society  and 
less  in  his  study.  The  indulgence  with  which  he 
treated  his  nephew  was,  no  doubt,  imprudent.  A 
man  more  in  the  habit  of  dealing  with  men  would 
have  been  more  guarded  with  a  person  with  Dick's 
questionable  story  and  unquestionable  physiognomy. 
But  he  was  singularly  unsuspicious,  and  his  natural 
kindness  was  an  additional  motive  to  the  wish  for  in 
troducing  some  variety  into  the  routine  of  Elsie's  life. 

If  Dudley  Venner  did  not  know  just  what  he  want 


ELSIE   VENNER.  281 

at  this  period  of  his  life,  there  were  a  great  many 
people  in  the  town  of  Rockland  who  thought  they  did 
know.  He  had  been  a  widower  long  enough,  —  nigh 
twenty  year,  wa'n't  it?  He  'd  been  aout  to 
Spraowles's  party,  — there  wa'n't  anything  to  hender 
him  why  he  shouldn't  stir  raound  1'k  other  folks. 
What  was  the  reason  he  did  n't  go  abaout  to  taown- 
meetin's  'n'  Sahbath-meetin's,  'n'  tyceums,  'n'  school 
'xaminations,  'n'  s' prise -parties,  'n'  funerals, — and 
other  entertainments  where  the  still-faced  two-story 
folks  were  in  the  habit  of  looking  round  to  see  if  any 
of  the  mansion-house  gentry  were  present?  —  Fac' 
was,  he  was  livin'  too  lonesome  daown  there  at  the 
mansion-haouse.  Why  should  n't  he  make  up  to  the 
Jedge's  daughter?  She  was  genteel  enough  for  him, 
and  —  let 's  see,  haow  old  was  she?  Seven-'n' -twenty, 
—  no,  six-'n' -twenty,  — born  the  same  year  we  buried 
aour  little  Anny  Marf. 

There  was  no  possible  objection  to  this  arrangement, 
if  the  parties  interested  had  seen  fit  to  make  it  or  even 
to  think  of  it.  But  "Portia,"  as  some  of  the  mansion- 
house  people  called  lier,  did  not  happen  to  awaken 
the  elective  affinities  of  the  lonely  widower.  He  met 
her  once  in  a  while,  and  said  to  himself  that  she  was 
a  good  specimen  of  the  grand  style  of  woman ;  and  then 
the  image  came  back  to  him  of  a  woman  not  quite  so 
large,  not  quite  so  imperial  in  her  port,  not  quite  so 
incisive  in  her  speech,  not  quite  so  judicial  in  her 
opinions,  but  with  two  or  three  more  joints  in  her 
frame,  and  two  or  three  soft  inflections  in  her  voice, 
which  for  some  absurd  reason  or  other  drew  him  to 
her  side  and  so  bewitched  him  that  he  told  her  half  his 
secrets  and  looked  into  her  eyes  all  that  he  could  not 
tell,  in  less  time  than  it  would  have  taken  him  to  dis 


282  ELSIE  VENNER. 

cuss  the  champion  paper  of  the  last  Quarterly  with 
the  admirable  "Portia."  Heu,  quanta  minus  I  How 
much  more  was  that  lost  image  to  him  than  all  it  left 
on  earth! 

The  study  of  love  is  very  much  like  that  of  meteor 
ology.  We  know  that  just  about  so  much  rain  will 
fall  in  a  season ;  but  on  what  particular  day  it  will 
shower  is  more  than  we  can  tell.  We  know  that  just 
about  so  much  love  will  be  made  every  year  in  a  given 
population ;  but  who  will  rain  his  young  affections  upon 
the  heart  of  whom  is  not  known  except  to  the  astrol 
ogers  and  fortune-tellers.  And  why  rain  falls  as  it 
does  and  why  love  is  made  just  as  it  is  are  equally 
puzzling  questions. 

The  woman  a  man  loves  is  always  his  own  daughter, 
far  more  his  daughter  than  the  female  children  born 
to  him  by  the  common  law  of  life.  It  is  not  the  out 
side  woman,  who  takes  his  name,  that  he  loves :  before 
her  image  has  reached  the  centre  of  his  consciousness, 
it  has  passed  through  fifty  many -layered  nerve-strain 
ers,  been  churned  over  by  ten  thousand  pulse-beats, 
and  reacted  upon  by  millions  of  lateral  impulses  which 
bandy  it  about  through  the  mental  spaces  as  a  reflec 
tion  is  sent  back  and  forward  in  a  saloon  lined  with 
mirrors.  With  this  altered  image  of  the  woman  be 
fore  him,  his  preexisting  ideal  becomes  blended.  The 
object  of  his  love  is  in  part  the  offspring  of  her  legal 
parents,  but  more  of  her  lover's  brain.  The  differ 
ence  between  the  real  and  the  ideal  objects  of  love 
must  not  exceed  a  fixed  maximum.  The  heart's  vision 
cannot  unite  them  stereoscopically  into  a  single  image, 
if  the  divergence  passes  certain  limits.  A  formidable 
analogy,  much  in  the  nature  of  a  proof,  with  very  se 
rious  consequences,  which  moralists  and  match-makers 


ELSIE  VENNER.  283 

would  do  well  to  remember!  Double  vision  with  the 
eyes  of  the  heart  is  a  dangerous  physiological  state, 
and  may  lead  to  missteps  and  serious  falls. 

Whether  Dudley  Venner  would  ever  find  a  breath 
ing  image  near  enough  to  his  ideal  one,  to  fill  the  des= 
olate  chamber  of  his  heart,  or  not,  was  very  doubtful. 
Some  gracious  and  gentle  woman,  whose  influence 
would  steal  upon  him  as  the  first  low  words  of  prayer 
after  that  interval  of  silent  mental  supplication  known 
to  one  of  our  simpler  forms  of  public  worship,  gliding 
into  his  consciousness  without  hurting  its  old  griefs, 
herself  knowing  the  chastening  of  sorrow,  and  subdued 
into  sweet  acquiescence  with  the  Divine  will,  —  some 
such  woman  as  this,  if  Heaven  should  send  him  such, 
might  call  him  back  to  the  world  of  happiness,  from 
which  he  seemed  forever  exiled.  He  could  never 
again  be  the  young  lover  who  walked  through  the 
garden-alleys  all  red  with  roses  in  the  old  dead  and 
buried  June  of  long  ago.  He  could  never  forget  the 
bride  of  his  youth,  whose  image,  growing  phantom- 
like  with  the  lapse  of  years,  hovered  over  him  like 
a  dream  while  waking  and  like  a  reality  in  dreams. 
But  if  it  might  be  in  God's  good  providence  that  this 
desolate  life  should  come  under  the  influence  of  human 
affections  once  more,  what  an  ecstasy  of  renewed  ex 
istence  was  in  store  for  him!  His  life  had  not  all 
been  buried  under  that  narrow  ridge  of  turf  with  the 
white  stone  at  its  head.  It  seemed  so  for  a  while; 
but  it  was  not  and  could  not  and  ought  not  to  be  so. 
His  first  passion  had  been  a  true  and  pure  one ;  there 
was  no  spot  or  stain  upon  it.  With  all  his  grief 
there  blended  no  cruel  recollection  of  any  word  or 
look  he  would  have  wished  to  forget.  All  those  little 
differences,  such  as  young  married  people  with  any 


284  ELSIE   VENNER. 

individual  flavor  in  their  characters  must  have,  if  they 
are  tolerably  mated,  had  only  added  to  the  music  of 
existence,  as  the  lesser  discords  admitted  into  some 
perfect  symphony,  fitly  resolved,  add  richness  and 
strenjrth  to  the  whole  harmonious  movement.  It  was 

O 

a  deep  wound  that  Fate  had  inflicted  on  him ;  nay,  it 
seemed  like  a  mortal  one ;  but  the  weapon  was  clean, 
and  its  edge  was  smooth.  Such  wounds  must  heal 
with  time  in  healthy  natures,  whatever  a  false  senti 
ment  may  say,  by  the  wise  and  beneficent  law  of  our 
being.  The  recollection  of  a  deep  and  true  affection 
is  rather  a  divine  nourishment  for  a  life  to  grow  strong 
upon  than  a  poison  to  destroy  it. 

Dudley  Venner's  habitual  sadness  could  not  be  laid 
wholly  to  his  early  bereavement.  It  was  partly  the 
result  of  the  long  struggle  between  natural  affection 
and  duty,  on  one  side,  and  the  involuntary  tendencies 
these  had  to  overcome,  on  the  other,  —  between  hope 
and  fear,  so  long  in  conflict  that  despair  itself  would 
have  been  like  an  anodyne,  and  he  would  have  slept 
upon  some  final  catastrophe  with  the  heavy  sleep  of  a 
bankrupt  after  his  failure  is  proclaimed.  Alas !  some 
new  affection  might  perhaps  rekindle  the  fires  of 
youth  in  his  heart ;  but  what  power  could  calm  that 
haggard  terror  of  the  parent  which  rose  with  every 
morning's  sun  and  watched  with  every  evening  star, 
—  what  power  save  alone  that  of  him  who  comes  bear 
ing  the  inverted  torch,  and  leaving  after  him  only  the 
ashes  printed  with  his  footsteps? 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  WIDOW  ROWENS   GIVES   A  TEA-PARTY. 

THERE  was  a  good  deal  of  interest  felt,  as  has  been 
said,  in  the  lonely  condition  of  Dudley  Vernier  in  that 
fine  mansion-house  of  his,  and  with  that  strange  daugh 
ter,  who  would  never  be  married,  as  many  people 
thought,  in  spite  of  all  the  stories.  The  feelings  ex 
pressed  by  the  good  folks  who  dated  from  the  time 
when  they  "buried  aour  little  Anny  Marf,"  and  oth 
ers  of  that  homespun  stripe,  were  founded  in  reason, 
after  all.  And  so  it  was  natural  enough  that  they 
should  be  shared  by  various  ladies,  who,  having  con 
jugated  the  verb  to  live  as  far  as  the  preterpluperfect 
tense,  were  ready  to  change  one  of  its  vowels  and 
begin  with  it  in  the  present  indicative.  Unfortu 
nately,  there  was  very  little  chance  of  showing  sym 
pathy  in  its  active  form  for  a  gentleman  who  kept 
himself  so  much  out  of  the  way  as  the  master  of  the 
Dudley  Mansion. 

Various  attempts  had  been  made,  from  time  to  time, 
of  late  years,  to  get  him  out  of  his  study,  which  had, 
for  the  most  part,  proved  failures.  It  was  a  surprise, 
therefore,  when  he  was  seen  at  the  Great  Party  at  the 
Colonel's.  But  it  was  an  encouragement  to  try  him 
again,  and  the  consequence  had  been  that  he  had  re 
ceived  a  number  of  notes  inviting  him  to  various 
smaller  entertainments,  which,  as  neither  he  nor  Elsie 
had  any  fancy  for  them,  he  had  politely  declined. 


286  ELSIE    VENNER. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  when  he  received  an 
invitation  to  take  tea  sociably,  with  a  few  friends,  at 
Hyacinth  Cottage,  the  residence  of  the  Widow  Row- 
ens,  relict  of  the  late  Beeri  Rowens,  Esquire,  better 
known  as  Major  Rowens.  Major  Rowens  was  at  the 
time  of  his  decease  a  promising  officer  in  the  militia, 
in  the  direct  line  of  promotion,  as  his  waistband  was 
getting  tighter  every  year;  and,  as  all  the  world 
knows,  the  militia-officer  who  splits  off  most  buttons 
and  fills  the  largest  sword-belt  stands  the  best  chance 
of  rising,  or,  perhaps  we  might  say,  spreading,  to  be 
General. 

Major  Rowens  united  in  his  person  certain  other 
traits  which  help  a  man  to  eminence  in  the  branch  of 
public  service  referred  to.  He^ran  to  high  colors,  to 
wide  whiskers,  to  open  pores;  he  had  the  saddle- 
leather  skin  common  in  Englishmen,  rarer  in  Ameri 
cans,  —  never  found  in  the  Brahmin  caste,  oftener  in 
the  military  and  the  commodores:  observing  people 
know  what  is  meant ;  blow  the  seed-arrows  from  the 
white-kid-looking  button  which  holds  them  on  a  dan 
delion-stalk,  and  the  pricked-pincushion  surface  shows 
you  what  to  look  for.  He  had  the  loud  gruff  voice 
which  implies  the  right  to  command.  He  had  the 
thick  hand,  stubbed  fingers,  with  bristled  pads  be 
tween  their  joints,  square,  broad  thumb-nails,  and 
sturdy  limbs,  which  mark  a  constitution  made  to  use 
in  rough  out-door  work.  He  had  the  never-failing 
predilection  for  showy  switch-tailed  horses  that  step 
high,  and  sidle  about,  and  act  as  if  they  were  going 
to  do  something  fearful  the  next  minute,  in  the  face 
of  awed  and  admiring  multitudes  gathered  at  mighty 
musters  or  imposing  cattle-shows.  He  had  no  ob 
jection,  either,  to  holding  the  reins  in  a  wagon  behind 


ELSIE   VENNER.  287 

another  kind  of  horse,  —  a  slouching,  listless  beast, 
with  a  strong  slant  to  his  shoulder,  and  a  notable 
depth  to  his  quarter  and  an  emphatic  angle  at  the 
hock,  who  commonly  walked  or  lounged  along  in  a 
lazy  trot  of  five  or  six  miles  an  hour;  but,  if  a  lively 
colt  happened  to  come  rattling  up  alongside,  or  a 
brandy -faced  old  horse -jockey  took  the  road  to  show 
off  a  fast  nag,  and  threw  his  dust  into  the  Major's 
face,  would  pick  his  legs  up  all  at  once,  and  straighten 
his  body  out,  and  swing  off  into  a  three-minute  gait, 
in  a  way  that  "Old  Blue " himself  need  not  have  been 
ashamed  of. 

For  some  reason  which  must  be  left  to  the  next  gen 
eration  of  professors  to  find  out,  the  men  who  are 

knowing  in  horse-flesh  have  an  eye  also  for, let 

a  long  dash  separate  the  brute  creation  from  the  an 
gelic  being  now  to  be  named,  —  for  lovely  woman. 
Of  this  fact  there  can  be  no  possible  doubt ;  and  there 
fore  you  shall  notice,  that,  if  a  fast  horse  trots  before 
two,  one  of  the  twain  is  apt  to  be  a  pretty  bit  of  muli 
ebrity,  with  shapes  to  her,  and  eyes  flying  about  in 
i  all  directions. 

Major  Rowens,  at  that  time  Lieutenant  of  the  Rock- 
land  Fusileers,  had  driven  and  "traded"  horses  not  a 
few  before  he  turned  his  acquired  skill  as  a  judge  of 
physical  advantages  in  another  direction.  He  knew 
a  neat,  snug  hoof,  a  delicate  pastern,  a  broad  haunch, 
a  deep  chest,  a  close  ribbed-up  barrel,  as  well  as  any 
other  man  in  the  town.  He  was  not  to  be  taken  in 
by  your  thick- jointed,  heavy-headed  cattle,  without 
>any  go  to  them,  that  suit  a  country -parson,  nor  yet 
'by  the  "gaanted-up,"  long-legged  animals,  with  all 
'their  constitutions  bred  out  of  them,  such  as  rich 
greenhorns  buy  and  cover  up  with  their  plated  trap- 
pings. 


\ 


288  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Whether  his  equine  experience  was  of  any  use  to 
him  in  the  selection  of  the  mate  with  whom  he  was  to 
go  in  double  harness  so  long  as  they  both  should  live, 
we  need  not  stop  to  question.  At  any  rate,  nobody 
could  find  fault  with  the  points  of  Miss  Marilla  Van 
Deusen,  to  whom  he  offered  the  privilege  of  becoming 
Mrs.  Rowens.  The  Van  must  have  been  crossed  out 
of  her  blood,  for  she  was  an  out-and-out  brunette, 
with  hair  and  eyes  black  enough  for  a  Mohawk's 
daughter.  A  fine  style  of  woman,  with  very  striking 
tints  and  outlines,  —  an  excellent  match  for  the  Lieu 
tenant,  except  for  one  thing.  She  was  marked  by 
Nature  for  a  widow.  She  was  evidently  got  up  for 
mourning,  and  never  looked  so  well  as  in  deep  black, 
with  jet  ornaments. 

The  man  who  should  dare  to  marry  her  would  doom 
himself ;  for  how  could  she  become  the  widow  she  was 
bound  to  be,  unless  he  could  retire  and  give  her  a 
chance?  The  Lieutenant  lived,  however,  as  we  have 
seen,  to  become  Captain  and  then  Major,  with  pros 
pects  of  further  advancement.  But  Mrs.  Rowens 
often  said  she  should  never  look  well  in  colors.  At 
last  her  destiny  fulfilled  itself,  and  the  justice  of  Na 
ture  was  vindicated.  Major  Rowens  got  overheated 
galloping  about  the  field  on  the  day  of  the  Great 
Muster,  and  had  a  rush  of  blood  to  the  head,  accord 
ing  to  the  common  report,  —  at  any  rate,  something 
which  stopped  him  short  in  his  career  of  expansion 
and  promotion,  and  established  Mrs.  Rowens  in  her 
normal  condition  of  widowhood. 

The  Widow  Rowens  was  now  in  the  full  bloom  of 
ornamental  sorrow.  A  very  shallow  crape  bonnet, 
frilled  and  froth-like,  allowed  the  parted  raven  hair 
to  show  its  glossy  smoothness.  A  jet  pin  heaved  upon 


ELSIE   VEKNER.  289 

her  bosom  with  every  sigh  of  memory,  or  emotion  of 
unknown  origin.  Jet  bracelets  shone  with  every 
movement  of  her  slender  hands,  cased  in  close-fitting 
black  gloves.  Her  sable  dress  was  ridged  with  mani 
fold  flounces,  from  beneath  which  a  small  foot  showed 
itself  from  time  to  tune,  clad  in  the  same  hue  o£ 
mourning.  Everything  about  her  was  dark,  except 
the  whites  of  her  eyes  and  the  enamel  of  her  teeth. 
The  effect  was  complete.  Gray's  Elegy  was  not  a 
more  perfect  composition. 

Much  as  the  Widow  was  pleased  with  the  costume 
belonging  to  her  condition,  she  did  not  disguise  from 
herself  that  under  certain  circumstances  she  might  be 
willing  to  change  her  name  again.  Thus,  for  in 
stance,  if  a  gentleman  not  too  far  gone  in  maturity, 
of  dignified  exterior,  with  an  ample  fortune,  and  of 
unexceptionable  character,  should  happen  to  set  his 
heart  upon  her,  and  the  only  way  to  make  him  happy 
was  to  give  up  her  weeds  and  go  into  those  unbecom 
ing  colors  again  for  his  sake,  —  why,  she  felt  that  it 
was  in  her  nature  to  make  the  sacrifice.  By  a  singu 
lar  coincidence  it  happened  that  a  gentleman  was  now 
living  in  Rockland  who  united  in  himself  all  these 
advantages.  Who  he  was,  the  sagacious  reader  may 
very  probably  have  divined.  Just  to  see  how  it 
looked,  one  day,  having  bolted  her  door,  and  drawn 
the  curtains  close,  and  glanced  under  the  sofa,  and 
listened  at  the  keyhole  to  be  sure  there  was  nobody  in 
the  entry,  —  just  to  see  how  it  looked,  she  had  taken 
out  an  envelope  and  written  on  the  back  of  it  Mrs. 
Manila  Venner.  It  made  her  head  swim  and  her 
knees  tremble.  What  if  she  should  faint,  or  die,  or 
have  a  stroke  of  palsy,  and  they  should  break  into  the 
room  and  find  that  name  written !  How  she  caught 


290  ELSIE   VENNER. 

it  up  and  tore  it  into  little  shreds,  and  then  could  not 
be  easy  until  she  had  burned  the  small  heap  of  pieces ! 
But  these  are  things  which  every  honorable  reader  will 
consider  imparted  in  strict  confidence. 

The  Widow  Rowens,  though  not  of  the  mansion- 
house  set,  was  among  the  most  genteel  of  the  two- 
story  circle,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  some  of 
the  great  people.  In  one  of  these  visits  she  met  a 
dashing  young  fellow  with  an  olive  complexion  at  the 
house  of  a  professional  gentleman  wlio  had  married 
one  of  the  white  necks  and  pairs  of  fat  arms  from 
a  distinguished  family  before  referred  to.  The  pro 
fessional  gentleman  himself  was  out,  but  the  lady 
introduced  the  olive-complexioned  young  man  as  Mr. 
Richard  Venner. 

The  Widow  was  particularly  pleased  with  this  acci 
dental  meeting.  Had  heard  Mr.  Venner's  name  fre 
quently  mentioned.  Hoped  his  uncle  was  well,  and 
his  charming  cousin,  —  was  she  as  original  as  ever  ? 
Had  often  admired  that  charming  creature  he  rode :  we 
had  had  some  fipe  horses.  Had  never  got  over  her 
taste  for  riding,  but  could  find  nobody  that  liked  a 
good  long  gallop  since  —  well  —  she  couldn't  help 
wishing  she  was  alongside  of  him,  the  other  day,  when 
she  saw  him  dashing  by,  just  at  twilight. 

The  Widow  paused;  lifted  a  flimsy  handkerchief 
with  a  very  deep  black  border  so  as  to  play  the  jet 
bracelet;  pushed  the  tip  of  her  slender  foot  beyond 
the  lowest  of  her  black  flounces ;  looked  up ;  looked 
down ;  looked  at  Mr.  Richard,  the  very  picture  of  art 
less  simplicity,  —  as  represented  in  well -played  gen 
teel  comedy. 

"A  good  bit  of  stuff,"  Dick  said  to  himself,  — 
*and  something  of  it  left  yet;  caramba  !  "  The  Ma- 


ELSIE  VENNER.  291 

jor  had  not  studied  points  for  nothing,  and  the  Widow 
was  one  of  the  right  sort.  The  young  man  had  been 
a  little  restless  of  late,  and  was  willing  to  vary  his 
routine  by  picking  up  an  acquaintance  here  and  there. 
So  he  took  the  Widow's  hint.  He  should  like  to  have 
a  scamper  of  half  a  dozen  miles  with  her  some  fine 
morning. 

The  Widow  was  infinitely  obliged;  was  not  sure 
that  she  could  find  any  horse  in  the  village  to  suit  her; 
but  it  was  so  kind  in  him !  Would  he  not  call  at  Hy 
acinth  Cottage,  and  let  her  thank  him  again  there? 

Thus  began  an  acquaintance  which  the  Widow  made 
the  most  of,  and  on  the  strength  of  which  she  deter 
mined  to  give  a  tea-party  and  invite  a  number  of  per 
sons  of  whom  we  know  something  already.  She  took 
a  half -sheet  of  note-paper  and  made  out  her  list  as 
carefully  as  a  country  "merchant's  "  "clerk"  adds  up 
two  and  threepence  (New-England  nomenclature)  and 
twelve  and  a  half  cents,  figure  by  figure,  and  fraction 
by  fraction,  before  he  can  be  sure  they  will  make 
half  a  dollar,  without  cheating  somebody.  After  much 
consideration  the  list  reduced  itself  to  the  following 
names:  Mr.  Richard  Venner  and  Mrs.  Blanche 
Creamer,  the  lady  at  whose  house  she  had  met  him, 
—  mansion-house  breed,  —  but  will  come,  —  soft  on 
Dick ;  Dudley  Venner,  —  take  care  of  him  herself ; 
Elsie,  —  Dick  will  see  to  her,  —  won't  it  fidget  the 
Creamer  woman  to  see  him  round  her?  the  old  Doc- 
i  tor, — he's  always  handy;  and  there's  that  young 
master  there,  up  at  the  school,  —  know  him  well 
|  enough  to  ask  him,  —  oh,  yes,  he  '11  come.  One,  two, 
i  three,  four,  five,  six,  —  seven ;  not  room  enough,  with 
out  the  leaf  in  the  table ;  one  place  empty,  if  the  leaf  's 
in.  Let 's  see,  —  Helen  Darley,  —  she  '11  do  well 


292  ELSIE    VENNER. 

enough  to  fill  it  up, — why,  yes,  just  the  thing, — • 
light  brown  hair,  blue  eyes,  —  won't  my  pattern  show 
off  well  against  her?  Put  her  down,  —  she  's  worth 
her  tea  and  toast  ten  times  over,  —  nobody  knows 
what  a  "thunder-and-lightning  woman,"  as  poor  Ma 
jor  used  to  have  it,  is,  till  she  gets  alongside  of  one 
of  those  old-maidish  girls,  with  hair  the  color  of 
brown  sugar,  and  eyes  like  .the  blue  of  a  teacup. 

The  Widow  smiled  with  a  feeling  of  triumph  at 
having  overcome  her  difficulties  and  arranged  her 
party,  —  arose  and  stood  before  her  glass,  three-quar 
ters  front,  one-quarter  profile,  so  as  to  show  the  whites 
of  the  eyes  and  the  down  of  the  upper  lip.  "  Splen 
did  !  "  said  the  Widow  —  and  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was 
not  far  out  of  the  way,  and  with  Helen  Darley  as  a  foil 
anybody  would  know  she  must  be  foudroyant  and  py 
ramidal,  —  if  these  French  adjectives  may  be  natural 
ized  for  this  one  particular  exigency. 

So  the  Widow  sent  out  her  notes.  The  black  grief 
which  had  filled  her  heart  and  had  overflowed  in 
surges  of  crape  around  her  person  had  left  a  deposit 
half  an  inch  wide  at  the  margin  of  her  note-paper. 
Her  seal  was  a  small  youth  with  an  inverted  torch,  the 
same  on  which  Mrs.  Blanche  Creamer  made  her  spite 
ful  remark,  that  she  expected  to  see  that  boy  of  the 
Widow's  standing  on  his  head  yet;  meaning,  as  Dick 
supposed,  that  she  would  get  the  torch  right-side  up 
as  soon  as  she  had  a  chance.  That  was  after  Dick  had 
made  the  Widow's  acquaintance,  and  Mrs.  Creamer 
had  got  it  into  her  foolish  head  that  she  would  marry 
that  young  fallow,  if  she  could  catch  him.  How 
could  he  ever  come  to  fancy  such  a  quadroon -looking 
thing  as  that,  she  should  like  to  know? 

It  is  easy  enough  to  ask  seven  people  to  a  party; 


ELSIE   VENNER.  293 

but  whether  they  will  come  or  not  is  an  open  question, 
as  it  was  in  the  case  of  the  spirits  of  the  vasty  deep. 
If  the  note  issues  from  a  three-story  mansion-house, 
and  goes  to  two-story  acquaintances,  they  will  all  be 
in  an  excellent  state  of  health,  and  have  much  pleasure 
in  accepting  this  very  polite  invitation.  If  the  note 
is  from  the  lady  of  a  two-story  family  to  three-story 
ones,  the  former  highly  respectable  person  will  very 
probably  find  that  an  endemic  complaint  is  prevalent, 
not  represented  in  the  weekly  bills  of  mortality,  which 
occasions  numerous  regrets  in  the  bosoms  of  eminently 
desirable  parties  that  they  cannot  have  the  pleasure  of 
and-so-forthing. 

In  this  case  there  was  room  for  doubt,  —  mainly 
as  to  whether  Elsie  would  take  a  fancy  to  come  or 
not.  If  she  should  come,  her  father  would  certainly 
be  with  her.  Dick  had  promised,  and  thought  he 
could  bring  Elsie.  Of  course  the  young  schoolmaster 
will  come,  and  that  poor  tired-out  looking  Helen,  — 
if  only  to  get  out  of  sight  of  those  horrid  Peckham 
wretches.  They  don't  get  such  invitations  every  day. 
The  others  she  felt  sure  of,  —  all  but  the  old  Doctor, 
—  he  might  have  some  horrid  patient  or  other  to  visit ; 
tell  him  Elsie  Vernier  's  going  to  be  there, — he  al 
ways  likes  to  have  an  eye  on  her,  they  say,  —  oh,  he  'd 
come  fast  enough,  without  any  more  coaxing. 

She  wanted  the  Doctor,  particularly.  It  was  odd, 
but  she  was  afraid  of  Elsie.  She  felt  as  if  she  should 
be  safe  enough,  if  the  old  Doctor  were  there  to  see  to 
the  girl;  and  then  she  should  have  leisure  to  devote 
herself  more  freely  to  the  young  lady's  father,  for 
whom  all  her  sympathies  were  in  a  state  of  lively  ex 
citement. 

It  was  a  long  time  since  the  Widow  had  seen  so 


294  ELSIE   VENNER. 

many  persons  round  her  table  as  she  had  now  invited. 
Better  have  the  plates  set  and  see  how  they  will  fill  it 
up  with  the  leaf  in.  —  A  little  too  scattering  with  only 
eight  plates  set :  if  she  could  find  two  more  people, 
now,  that  would  bring  the  chairs  a  little  closer,  — 
snug,  you  know,  —  which  makes  the  company  sociable. 
The  Widow  thought  over  her  acquaintances.  Why] 
how  stupid !  there  was  her  good  minister,  the  same 
who  had  married  her,  and  might  —  might  —  bury  her 
for  aught  she  knew,  and  his  granddaughter  staying 
with  him,  — nice  little  girl,  pretty,  and  not  old  enough 
to  be  dangerous ;  —  for  the  Widow  had  no  notion  of 
making  a  tea-party  and  asking  people  to  it  that  would 
be  like  to  stand  between  her  and  any  little  project  she 
might  happen  to  have  on  anybody's  heart,  — not  she! 
It  was  all  right  now ;  —  Blanche  was  married  and  so 
forth;  Letty  was  a  child;  Elsie  was  his  daughter; 
Helen  Darley  was  a  nice,  worthy  drudge,  —  poor 
thing !  —  faded,  faded,  —  colors  would  n't  wash,  — 
just  what  she  wanted  to  show  off  against.  Now,  if 
the  Dudley  mansion-house  people  would  only  come, 
—  that  was  the  great  point. 

"Here  's  a  note  for  us,  Elsie,"  said  her  father,  as 
they  sat  round  the  breakfast-table.  "Mrs.  Rowens 
wants  us  all  to  come  to  tea." 

It  was  one  of  "Elsie's  days,"  as  old  Sophy  called 
them.  The  light  in  her  eyes  was  still,  but  very 
bright.  She  looked  up  so  full  of  perverse  and  wilful 
impulses,  that  Dick  knew  he  could  make  he^  ""o  with 
him  and  her  father.  He  had  his  own  m(  es  for 
bringing  her  to  this  determination,  —  and  *  own 
way  of  setting  about  it. 

"I  don't  want  to  go,"  he  said.  "Wha  io  you 
say,  uncle?" 


ELSIE   VENNER.  295 

"To  tell  the  truth,  Richard,  I  don't  much  fancy 
the  Major's  widow.  I  don't  like  to  see  her  weeds 
flowering  out  quite  so  strong.  I  suppose  you  don't 
care  about  going,  Elsie?  " 

Elsie  looked  up  in  her  father's  face  with  an  expres 
sion  which  he  knew  but  too  well.  She  was  just  in 
the  state  which  the  plain  sort  of  people  call  "con 
trary,"  when  they  have  to  deal  with  it  in  animals. 
She  would  insist  on  going  to  that  tea-party ;  he  knew 
it  just  as  well  before  she  spoke  as  after  she  had  spoken. 
If  Dick  had  said  he  wanted  to  go  and  her  father  had 
seconded  his  wishes,  she  would  have  insisted  on  stay 
ing  at  home.  It  was  no  great  matter,  her  father  said 
to  himself,  after  all;  very  likely  it  would  amuse  her; 
the  Widow  was  a  lively  woman  enough,  —  perhaps  a 
little  comme  il  ne  faut  pas  socially,  compared  with 
the  Thorntons  and  some  other  families ;  but  what  did 
he  care  for  these  petty  village  distinctions? 

Elsie  spoke. 

"I  mean  to  go.  You  must  go  with  me,  Dudley. 
You  may  do  as  you  like,  Dick." 

That  settled  the  Dudley-mansion  business,  of 
course.  They  all  three  accepted,  as  fortunately  did 
all  the  others  who  had  been  invited. 

Hyacinth  Cottage  was  a  pretty  place  enough,  a  lit-  \/ 
tie  too  much  choked  round  with  bushes,  and  too  much 
overrun  with  climbing-roses,  which,  in  the  season  of 
slugs  and  rose-bugs,  were  apt  to  show  so  brown  about 
the  leaves  and  so  coleopterous  about  the  flowers,  that 
it  might  be  questioned  whether  their  buds  and  blos= 
soms  made  up  for  these  unpleasant  animal  combina 
tions,  —  especially  as  the  smell  of  whale-oil  soap  was 
very  commonly  in  the  ascendant  over  that  of  the  roses. 
It  had  its  patch  of  grass  called  "the  lawn,"  and  its 


296  ELSIE   VENNER. 

glazed  closet  known  as -"the  conservatory,"  according 
to  that  system  of  harmless  fictions  characteristic  of  the 
rural  imagination  and  shown  in  the  names  applied  to 
many  familiar  objects.  The  interior  of  the  cottage 
was  more  tasteful  and  ambitious  than  that  of  the 
ordinary  two-story  dwellings.  In  place  of  the  pre 
vailing  hair-cloth  covered  furniture,  the  visitor  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seating  himself  upon  a  chair  covered 
with  some  of  the  Widow's  embroidery,  or  a  sofa  lux 
urious  with  soft  caressing  plush.  The  sporting  tastes 
of  the  late  Major  showed  in  various  prints  on  the 
wall :  Herring's  "  Plenipotentiary,"  the  " red  bullock  " 
of  the  '34  Derby;  "Cadland"  and  "The  Colonel;" 
"Crucifix;"  "West-Australian,"  fastest  of  modern 
racers ;  and  among  native  celebrities,  ugly,  game  old 
"Boston,"  with  his  straight  neck  and  ragged  hips; 
and  gray  "Lady  Suffolk,"  queen,  in  her  day,  not  of 
the  turf  but  of  the  track,  "extending"  herself  till  she 
measured  a  rod,  more  or  less,  skimming  along  within 
a  yard  of  the  ground,  her  legs  opening  and  shutting 
under  her  with  a  snap,  like  the  four  blades  of  a  com 
pound  jack-knife. 

These  pictures  were  much  more  refreshing  than 
those  dreary  fancy  death-bed  scenes,  common  in  two- 
story  country-houses,  in  which  Washington  and  other 
distinguished  personages  are  represented  as  obligingly 
devoting  their  last  moments  to  taking  a  prominent 
part  in  a  tableau,  in  which  weeping  relatives,  attached 
servants,  professional  assistants,  and  celebrated  per 
sonages  who  might  by  a  stretch  of  imagination  be 
supposed  present,  are  grouped  in  the  most  approved 
style  of  arrangement  about  the  chief  actor's  pillow. 

A  single  glazed  bookcase  held  the  family  library, 
vrhich  was  hidden  from  vulgar  eyes  Oby  green  silk  cur- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  297 

tains  behind  the  glass.  It  would  have  been  instruc 
tive  to  get  a  look  at  it,  as  it  always  is  to  peep  into 
one's  neighbor's  book-shelves.  From  other  sources 
and  opportunities  a  partial  idea  of  it  has  been  ob 
tained.  The  Widow  had  inherited  some  books  from 
her  mother,  who  was  something  of  a  reader :  Young's 
"Night-Thoughts;"  "The  Preceptor;"  "The  Task, 
a  Poem,"  by  William  Cowper;  Hervey's  "Medita 
tions;"  "Alonzo  and  Melissa;"  "Buccaneers  of 
America;"  "The  Triumphs  of  Temper;"  "La  BeUe 
Assemblee ;  "  Thomson's  "  Seasons ;  "  and  a  few  others. 
The  Major  had  brought  in  ''Tom  Jones"  and  "Pere 
grine  Pickle;"  various  works  by  Mr.  Pierce  Egan; 
"Boxiana,"  "The  Kacing  Calendar ;"  and  a  "Book 
of  Lively  Songs  and  Jests."  The  Widow  had  added 
the  Poems  of  Lord  Byron  and  T.  Moore;  "Eugene 
Aram;  "  "The  Tower  of  London,"  by  Harrison  Ains- 
worth;  some  of  Scott's  Novels;  "The  Pickwick  Pa 
pers  ; "  a  volume  of  Plays,  by  W.  Shakespeare ;  "Pro 
verbial  Philosophy;"  "Pilgrim's  Progress;"  "The 
Whole  Duty  of  Man  "  (a  present  when  she  was  mar 
ried);  with  two  celebrated  religious  works,  one  by 
William  Law  and  the  other  by  Philip  Doddridge, 
which  were  sent  her  after  her  husband's  death,  and 
which  she  had  tried  to  read,  but  found  that  they  did 
not  agree  with  her.  Of  course  the  bookcase  held  a 
few  school  manuals  and  compendiums,  and  one  of  Mr. 
Webster's  Dictionaries.  But  the  gilt-edged  Bible 
always  lay  on  the  centre-table,  next  to  the  magazine 
with  the  fashion-plates  and  the  scrap-book  with  pic- 
jtures  from  old  annuals  and  illustrated  papers. 

The  reader  need  not  apprehend  the  recital,  at  full 
'  length,  of  such  formidable  preparations  for  the  Wid- 
iow's  tea-party  as  were  required  in  the  case  of  Colonel 


298  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Sprowle's  Social  Entertainment.  A  tea-party,  even 
in  the  country,  is  a  comparatively  simple  and  econom 
ical  piece  of  business.  As  soon  as  the  Widow  found 
that  all  her  company  were  coming,  she  set  to  work, 
with  the  aid  of  her  "smart"  maid-servant  and  a 
daughter  of  her  own,  who  was  beginning  to  stretch 
and  spread  at  a  fearful  rate,  but  whom  she  treated  as 
a  small  child,  to  make  the  necessary  preparations. 
The  silver  had  to  be  rubbed;  also  the  grand  plated 
urn,  —  her  mother's  before  hers,  —  style  of  the  Em 
pire,  —  looking  as  if  it  might  have  been  made  to  hold 
the  Major's  ashes.  Then  came  the  making  and  bak 
ing  of  cake  and  gingerbread,  the  smell  whereof 
reached  even  as  far  as  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the 
cottage,  so  that  small  boys  returning  from  school 
snuffed  it  in  the  breeze,  and  discoursed  with  each 
other  on  its  suggestions;  so  that  the  Widow  Leech, 
who  happened  to  pass,  remembered  she  had  n't  called 
on  Marilly  Raowens  for  a  consid'ble.  spell,  and  turned 
in  at  the  gate  and  rang  three  times  with  long  inter 
vals,  —  but  all  in  vain,  the  inside  Widow  having 
"spotted"  the  outside  one  through  the  blinds,  and 
whispered  to  her  aides-de-camp  to  let  the  old  thing 
ring  away  till  she  pulled  the  bell  out  by  the  roots,  but 
not  to  stir  to  open  the  door. 

Widow  Rowens  wj^s  what  they  called  a  real  smart, 
capable  woman,  not  very  great  on  books,  perhaps,  b'ut 
knew  what  was  what  and  who  was  who  as  well  as  an 
other,  —  knew  how  to  make  the  little  cottage  look 
pretty,  how  to  set  out  a  tea-table,  and,  what  a  good 
many  women  never  can  find  out,  knew  her  own  style 
and  "got  herself  up  tip-top,"  as  our  young  friend 
Master  Geordie,  Colonel  Sprowle's  heir-apparent, 
remarked  to  his  friend  from  one  of  the  fresh-water 


ELSIE   VENNER.  299 

colleges.  Flowers  were  abundant  now,  and  she  had 
dressed  her  rooms  tastefully  with  them.  The  centre- 
table  had  two  or  three  gilt-edged  books  lying  care 
lessly  about  on  it,  and  some  prints  and  a  stereoscope 
with  stereographs  to  match,  chiefly  groups  of  picnics, 
weddings,  etc.,  in  which  the  same  somewhat  fatigued- 
looking  ladies  of  fashion  and  brides  received  the  at* 
tentions  of  the  same  unpleasant-looking  young  men, 
easily  identified  under  their  different  disguises,  consist 
ing  of  fashionable  raiment  such  as  gentlemen  are  sup 
posed  to  wear  habitually.  With  these,  however,  were 
some  pretty  English  scenes,  —  pretty  except  for  the 
old  fellow  with  the  hanging  under-lip  who  infests 
every  one  of  that  interesting  series ;  and  a  statue  or 
two,  especially  that  famous  one  commonly  called  the 
Lahcoon,  so  as  to  rhyme  with  moon  and  spoon,  and 
representing  an  old  man  with  his  two  sons  in  the  em- 
1  braces  of  two  monstrous  serpents. 

There  is  no  denying  that  it  was  a  very  dashing 
achievement  of  the  Widow's  to  bring  together  so  con 
siderable  a  number  of  desirable  guests.  She  felt 
proud  of  her  feat;  but  as  to  the  triumph  of  getting 
Dudley  Venner  to  come  out  for  a  visit  to  Hyacinth 
Cottage,  she  was  surprised  and  almost  frightened  at 
her  own  success.  So  much  might  depend  on  the  im- 
ipressions  of  that  evening ! 

The  next  thing  was  to  be  sure  that  everybody  should 
;be  in  the  right  place  at  the  tea-table,  and  this  the 
'Widow  thought  she  could  manage  by  a  few  words  to 
the  older  guests  and  a  little  shuffling  about  and  shift~ 
ting  when  they  got  to  the  table.  To  settle  everything 
the  Widow  made  out  a  diagram,  which  the  reader 
should  have  a  chance  of  inspecting  in  an  authentic 
copy,  if  these  pages  were  allowed  under  any  circum- 


300  ELSIE   VENNER. 

stances  to  be  the  vehicle  of  illustrations.  If,  how 
ever,  he  or  she  really  wishes  to  see  the  way  the  pieces 
stood  as  they  were  placed  at  the  beginning  of  the 
game,  (the  Widow's  gambit,)  he  or  she  had  better  at 
once  take  a  sheet  of  paper,  draw  an  oval,  and  arrange 
the  characters  according  to  the  following  schedule. 

At  the  head  of  the  table,  the  Hostess,  Widow  Ma- 
rilla  Rowens.  Opposite  her,  at  the  other  end,  Rev. 
Dr.  Honeywood.  »At  the  right  of  the  Hostess,  Dud 
ley  Venner,  next  him  Helen  Darley,  next  her  Dr. 
Kittredge,  next  him  Mrs.  Blanche  Creamer,  then  the 
Reverend  Doctor.  At  the  left  of  the  Hostess,  Ber 
nard  Langdon,  next  him  Letty  Forrester,  next  Letty 
Mr.  Richard  Venner,  next  him  Elsie,  and  so  to  the 
Reverend  Doctor  again. 

The  company  came  together  a  little  before  the  early 
hour  at  which  it  was  customary  to  take  tea  in  Rock- 
land.  The  Widow  knew  everybody,  of  course:  who 
was  there  in  Rockland  she  did  not  know?  But  some 
of  them  had  to  be  introduced :  Mr.  Richard  Venner 
to  Mr.  Bernard,  Mr.  Bernard  to  Miss  Letty,  Dudley 
Venner  to  Miss  Helen  Darley,  and  so  on.  The  two 
young  men  looked  each  other  straight  in  the  eyes, — 
both  full  of  youthful  life,  but  one  of  frank  and  fear 
less  aspect,  the  other  with  a  dangerous  feline  beauty 
alien  to  the  New  England  half  of  his  blood. 

The  guests  talked,  turned  over  the  prints,  looked 
at  the  flowers,  opened  the  "Proverbial  Philosophy" 
with  gilt  edges,  and  the  volume  of  Plays  by  W.  Shake 
speare,  examined  the  horse-pictures  on  the  walls,  and 
so  passed  away  the  time  until  tea  was  announced, 
when  they  paired  off  for  the  room  where  it  was  in 
readiness.  The  Widow  had  managed  it  well;  every 
thing  was  just  as  she  wanted  it.  Dudley  Venner  was 


ELSIE   VENNER.  301 

between  herself  and  the  poor  tired-looking  school 
mistress  with  her  faded  colors.  Blanche  Creamer,  a 
lax,  tumble-to-pieces,  Greuze-ish.  looking  blonde, 
whom  the  Widow  hated  because  the  men  took  to  her, 
was  purgatoried  between  the  two  old  Doctors,  and 
could  see  all  the  looks  that  passed  between  Dick  Ven- 
ner  and  his  cousin.  The  young  schoolmaster  could 
talk  to  Miss  Letty :  it  was  his  business  to  know  how 
to  talk  to  schoolgirls.  Dick  would  amuse  himself 
with  his  cousin  Elsie.  The  old  Doctors  only  wanted 
!to  be  well  fed  and  they  would  do  well  enough. 

It  would  be  very  pleasant  to  describe  the  tea-table; 
but  in  reality,  it  did  not  pretend  to  offer  a  plethoric 
banquet  to  the  guests.  The  Widow  had  not  visited 
the  mansion-houses  for  nothing,  and  she  had  learned 
there  that  an  overloaded  tea-table  may  do  well  enough 
for  farm-hands  when  they  come  in  at  evening  from 
their  work  and  sit  down  unwashed  in  their  shirt 
sleeves,  but  that  for  decently  bred  people  such  an  in 
sult  to  the  memory  of  a  dinner  not  yet  half -assimilated 
is  wholly  inadmissible.  Everything  was  delicate,  and 
'almost  everything  of  fair  complexion:  white  bread 
and  biscuits,  frosted  and  sponge  cake,  cream,  honey, 
straw-colored  butter;  only  a  shadow  here  and  there, 
iwhere  the  fire  had  crisped  and  browned  the  surfaces 
of  a  stack  of  dry  toast,  or  where  a  preserve  had 
.brought  away  some  of  the  red  sunshine  of  the  last 
iyear's  summer.  The  Widow  shall  have  the  credit 
;of  her  well-ordered  tea-table,  also  of  her  bountiful 
'cream-pitchers;  for  it  is  well  known  that  city-people 
/find  cream  a  very  scarce  luxury  in  a  good  many  coun- 
[try-houses  of  more  pretensions  than  Hyacinth  Cot- 
itage.  There  are  no  better  maxims  for  ladies  who 
give  tea-parties  than  these :  — 


302  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Cream  is  thicker  than  water. 
(Large  heart  never  loved  little  cream-pot. 

There  is  a  common  feeling  in  genteel  families  that 
the  third  meal  of  the  day  is  not  so  essential  a  part  of 
the  daily  bread  as  to  require  any  especial  acknowledg 
ment  to  the  Providence  which  bestows  it.  Very  de 
vout  people,  who  would  never  sit  down  to  a  breakfast 
or  a  dinner  without  the  grace  before  meat  which 
honors  the  Giver  of  it,  feel  as  if  they  thanked  Heaven 
enough  for  their  tea  and  toast  by  partaking  of  them 
cheerfully  without  audible  petition  or  ascription.  But 
the  Widow  was  not  exactly  mansion-house-bred,  and 
so  thought  it  necessary  to  give  the  Reverend  Doctor 
a  peculiar  look  which  he  understood  at  once  as  invit 
ing  his  professional  services.  He,  therefore,  uttered  a 
few  simple  words  of  gratitude,  very  quietly,  —  much 
to  the  satisfaction  of  some  of  the  guests,  who  had  ex 
pected  one  of  those  elaborate  effusions,  with  rolling  up 
of  the  eyes  and  rhetorical  accents,  so  frequent  with 
eloquent  divines  when  they  address  their  Maker  in 
genteel  company. 

Everybody  began  talking  with  the  person  sitting 
next  at  hand.  Mr.  Bernard  naturally  enough  turned 
his  attention  first  to  the  Widow;  but  somehow  or 
other  the  right  side  of  the  Widow  seemed  to  be  more 
wide  awake  than  the  left  side,  next  him,  and  he  re 
signed  her  to  the  courtesies  of  Mr.  Dudley  Venner, 
directing  himself,  not  very  unwillingly,  to  the  young 
girl  next  him  on  the  other  side.  Miss  Letty  Forres 
ter,  the  granddaughter  of  the  Reverend  Doctor,  was 
city-bred,  as  anybody  might  see,  and  city-dressed,  as 
any  woman  would  know  at  sight;  a  man  might  only 
feel  the  general  effect  of  clear,  well-matched  colors, 
of  harmonious  proportions,  of  the  cut  which  makes 


ELSIE   VENNER.  3305 

everything  cling  like  a  bather's  sleeve  where  a  iiatural- 
)utline  is  to  be  kept,  and  ruffle  itself  up  like  the 
aackle  of  a  pitted  fighting-cock  where  art  has  a  right 
;o  luxuriate  in  silken  exuberance.  How  this  city -bred 
ind  city -dressed  girl  came  to  be  in  Rockland  Mr.  Ber- 
aard  did  not  know,  but  he  knew  at  any  rate  that  she 
tvas  his  next  neighbor  and  entitled  to  his  courtesies. 
She  was  handsome,  too,  when  he  came  to  look,  very 
aandsome  when  he  came  to  look  again,  —  endowed 
with  that  city  beauty  which  is  like  the  beauty  of 
wall-fruit,  something  finer  in  certain  respects  than  can 
ibe  reared  ofi  the  pavement. 

The  miserable  routinists  who  keep  repeating  invid 
iously  Cowper's 

"  God  made  the  country  and  man  made  the  town," 

is  if  the  town  were  a  place  to  kill  out  the  race  in, 
do  not  know  what  they  are  talking  about.  Where 
could  they  raise  such  Saint-Michael  pears,  such  Saint- 
Grermains,  such  Brown  Beurres,  as  we  had  until  within 
i  few  years  growing  within  the  walls  of  our  old  city- 
gardens?  Is  the  dark  and  damp  cavern  where  a 
tagged  beggar  hides  himself  better  than  a  town-man 
sion  which  fronts  the  sunshine  and  backs  on  its  own 
cool  shadow,  with  gas  and  water  and  all  appliances  to 
suit  all  needs?  God  made  the  cavern  and  man  made 
fche  house  !  What  then  ? 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  pavement  keeps  a  deal 
of  mischief  from  coming  up  out  of  the  earth,  and, 
fWiih  a  dash  off  of  it  in  summer,  just  ta  cool  the  soles 
:Df  the  feet  when  it  gets  too  hot,  is  the  best  place  for 
rmany  constitutions,  as  some  few  practical  people  have 
[already  discovered.  And  just  so  these  beauties  that 
grow  and  ripen  against  the  city-walls,  these  young 


301  ELSIE  VENNEK. 

Bellows  with  cheeks  like  peaches  and  young  girls  with 
cheeks  like  nectarines,  show  that  the  most  perfect 
forms  of  artificial  life  can  do  as  much  for  the  human 
product  as  garden-culture  for  strawberries  and  black 
berries. 

If  Mr.  Bernard  had  philosophized  or  prosed  in  this 
way,  with  so  pretty,  nay,  so  lovely  a  neighbor  as  Miss 
Letty  Forrester  waiting  for  him  to  speak  to  her,  he 
would  have  to  be  dropped  from  this  narrative  as  a 
person  unworthy  of  his  good-fortune,  and  not  deserv 
ing  the  kind  reader's  further  notice.  On  the  con 
trary,  he  no  sooner  set  his  eyes  fairly  on  her  than  he 
said  to  himself  that  she  was  charming,  and  that  he 
wished  she  were  one  of  his  scholars  at  the  Institute. 
So  he  began  talking  with  her  in  an  easy  way ;  for  he 
knew  something  of  young  girls  by  this  time,  and,  of 
course,  could  adapt  himself  to  a  young  lady  who  looked 
as  if  she  might  be  not  more  than  fifteen  or  sixteen 
years  old,  and  therefore  could  hardly  be  a  match  in 
intellectual  resources  for  the  seventeen  and  eighteen 
year -old  first-class  scholars  of  the  Apollinean  Insti 
tute.  But  city- wall-fruit  ripens  early,  and  he  soon 
found  that  this  girl's  training  had  so  sharpened  her 
wits  and  stored  her  memory,  that  he  need  not  be  at  the 
trouble  to  stoop  painfully  in  order  to  come  down  to 
her  level. 

The  beauty  of  good-breeding  is  that  it  adjusts  itself 
to  all  relations  without  effort,  true  to  itself  always, 
however  the  manners  of  those  around  it  may  change. 
Self-respect  and  respect  for  others,  —  the  sensitive 
consciousness  poises  itself  in  these  as  the  compass  in 
the  ship's  binnacle  balances  itself  and  maintains  its 
true  level  within  the  two  concentric  rings  which  sus 
pend  it  on  their  pivots.  This  thorough-bred  school- 


iLSIE  VENNEK.  305 

girl  quite  enchanted  Mr.  Bernard.  He  could  not  un 
derstand  where  she  got  her  style,  her  way  of  dress,  her 
enunciation,  her  easy  manners.  The  minister  was  a 
most  worthy  gentleman,  but  this  was  not  the  Rock- 
land  native-born  manner ;  some  new  element  had  come 
in  between  the  good,  plain,  worthy  man  and  this 
young  girl,  fit  to  be  a  Crown  Prince's  partner  where 
,there  were  a  thousand  to  choose  from. 

He  looked  across  to  Helen  Darley,  for  he  knew  she 
would  understand  the  glance  of  admiration  with  which 
tie  called  her  attention  to  the  young  beauty  at  his  side; 
and  Helen  knew  what  a  young  girl  could  be,  as  com 
pared  with  what  too  many  a  one  is,  as  well  as  any 
body. 

This  poor,  dear  Helen  of  ours  !  How  admirable  the 
contrast  between  her  and  the  Widow  on  the  other  side 
pf  Dudley  Yenner!  But,  what  was  very  odd,  that 
gentleman  apparently  thought  the  contrast  was  to  the 
advantage  of  this  poor,  dear  Helen.  At  any  rate,  in 
stead  of  devoting  himself  solely  to  the  Widow,  he  hap 
pened  to  be  just  at  that  moment  talking  in  a  very  in 
terested  and,  apparently,  not  uninteresting  way  to  his 
•right-hand  neighbor,  who,  on  her  part,  never  looked 
more  charmingly,  —  as  Mr.  Bernard  could  not  help 
saying  to  himself,  — but,  to  be  sure,  he  had  just  been 
looking  at  the  young  girl  next  him,  so  that  his  eyes 
were  brimful  of  beauty,  and  may  have  spilled  some  of 
it  on  the  first  comer :  for  you  know  M.  Becquerel  has 
been  showing  us  lately  how  everything  is  phosphores- 
3ent;  that  it  soaks  itself  with  light  in  an  instant's 
exposure,  so  that  it  is  wet  with  liquid  sunbeams,  or, 
If  you  will,  tremulous  with  luminous  vibrations,  when 
irst  plunged  into  the  negative  bath  of  darkness,  and 
betrays  itself  by  the  light  which  escapes  from  its  sur 
face. 

i 


306  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Whatever  were  the  reason,  this  poor,  dear  Helen 
never  looked  so  sweetly.  Her  plainly  parted  brown 
hair,  her  meek,  blue  eyes,  her  cheek  just  a  little  tinged 
with  color,  the  almost  sad  simplicity  of  her  dress,  and 
that  look  he  knew  so  well,  —  so  full  of  cheerful  pa 
tience,  so  sincere,  that  he  had  trusted  her  from  the  first 
moment  as  the  believers  of  the  larger  half  of  Chris 
tendom  trust  the  Blessed  Virgin,  —  Mr.  Bernard  took 
this  all  in  at  a  glance,  and  felt  as  pleased  as  if  it  had 
been  his  own  sister  Dorothea  Elizabeth  that  he  was 
looking  at.  As  for  Dudley  Venner,  Mr.  Bernard 
could  not  help  being  struck  by  the  animated  expres 
sion  of  his  countenance.  It  certainly  showed  great 
kindness,  on  his  part,  to  pay  so  much  attention  to 
this  quiet  girl,  when  he  had  the  thunder-and-lightning 
Widow  on  the  other  side  of  him. 

Mrs.  Marilla  Rowens  did  not  know  what  to  make 
of  it.  She  had  made  her  tea-party  expressly  for  Mr. 
Dudley  Venner.  She  had  placed  him  just  as  she 
wanted,  between  herself  and  a  meek,  delicate  woman 
who  dressed  in  gray,  wore  a  plain  breastpin  with  hair 
in  it,  who  taught  a  pack  of  girls  up  there  at  the  school, 
and  looked  as  if  she  were  born  for  a  teacher,  —  the 
very  best  foil  that  she  could  have  chosen ;  and  here 
was  this  man,  polite  enough  to  herself,  to  be  sure,  but 
turning  round  to  that  very  undistinguished  young 
person  as  if  he  rather  preferred  her  conversation  of  the 
two! 

The  truth  was  that  Dudley  Venner  and  Helen  Dar- 
ley  met  as  two  travellers  might  meet  in  the  desert, 
wearied,  both  of  them,  with  their  long  journey,  one 
having  food,  but  no  water,  the  other  water,  but  no 
food,  Each  saw  that  the  other  had  been  in  long  con 
flict  with  some  trial;  for  their  voices  were  low  and 


ELSIE  VENNER.  307 

;  tender,  as  patiently  borne  sorrow  and  humbly  uttered 
prayers   make    every  human   voice.     Through  these 
tones,  more  than  by  what  they  said,  they  came  into 
i  natural  sympathetic  relations  with  each  other.     No 
thing  could  be  more  unstudied.     As  for  Dudley  Ven- 
,  ner,  no  beauty  in  all  the  world  could  have  so  soothed 
and  magnetized  him  as  the  very  repose  and  subdued 
gentleness  which  the  Widow  had  thought  would  make 
the  best  possible  background  for  her  own  more  salient 
and  effective  attractions.     No  doubt,  Helen,  on  her 
side,  was  almost  too  readily  pleased  with  the  confi 
dence  this  new  acquaintance  she  was  making  seemed 
I  to  show  her  from  the  very  first.     She  knew  so  few 
men  of  any  condition !     Mr.   Silas  Peckham :  he  was 
her  employer,  and  she  ought  to  think  of  him  as  well  as 
she  could ;  but  every  time  she  thought  of  him  it  was 
with  a  shiver  of  disgust.     Mr.  Bernard  Langdon :  a 
noble  young  man,  a  true  friend,  like  a  brother  to  her, 
- —  God  bless  him,  and  send  him  some  young  heart  as 
fresh  as  his  own!     But  this  gentleman   produced  a 
new  impression  upon  her,  quite  different  from  any  to 
which  she  was  accustomed.     His  rich,  low  tones  had 
the  strangest  significance  to  her ;  she  felt  sure  he  must 
.have  lived  through   long  experiences,  sorrowful  like 
i  her  own.     Elsie's  father !     She  looked  into  his  dark 
eyes,  as  she  listened  to  him,  to  see  if  they  had  any 
glimmer  of  that  peculiar  light,  diamond-bright,  but 
cold  and  still,   which   she    knew  so  well  in  Elsie's. 
Anything  but  that!     Never  was  there  more  tender- 
mess,  it  seemed  to  her,  than  in  the  whole  look  and 
•expression  of  Elsie's  father.     She  must  have  been  a 
;  great  trial  to  him;  yet  his  face  was  that  of  one  who 
;had   been    saddened,   not    soured,  by  his  discipline. 
Knowing  what  Elsie  must  be  to  him,  how  hard  she 


308  ELSIE   VENNER. 

must  make  any  parent's  life,  Helen  could  not  but  be 
struck  with  the  interest  Mr.  Dudley  Vernier  showed 
in  her  as  his  daughter's  instructress.  He  was  too 
kind  to  her ;  again  and  again  she  meekly  turned  from 
him,  so  as  to  leave  him  free  to  talk  to  the  showy  lady 
at  his  other  side,  who  was  looking  all  the  while 

"  like  the  night 
Of  cloudless  realms  and  starry  skies ; " 

but  still  Mr.  Dudley  Venner,  after  •  a  few  courteous 
words,  came  back  to  the  blue  eyes  and  brown  hair; 
still  he  kept  his  look  fixed  upon  her,  and  his  tones 
grew  sweeter  and  lower  as  he  became  more  interested 
in  talk,  until  this  poor,  dear  Helen,  what  with  surprise, 
and  the  bashfulness  natural  to  one  who  had  seen  little 
of  the  gay  world,  and  the  stirring  of  deep,  confused 
sympathies  with  this  suffering  father,  whose  heart 
seemed  so  full  of  kindness,  felt  her  cheeks  glowing 
with  unwonted  flame,  and  betrayed  the  pleasing  trou 
ble  of  her  situation  by  looking  so  sweetly  as  to  arrest 
Mr.  Bernard's  eye  for  a  moment,  when  he  looked 
away  from  the  young  beauty  sitting  next  him. 

Elsie  meantime  had  been  silent,  with  that  singular, 
still,  watchful  look  which  those  who  knew  her  well  had 
learned  to  fear.  Her  head  just  a  little  inclined  on 
one  side,  perfectly  motionless  for  whole  minutes,  her 
eyes  seeming  to  grow  small  and  bright,  as  always  when 
she  was  under  her  evil  influence,  she  was  looking 
obliquely  at  the  young  girl  on  the  other  side  of  her 
cousin  Dick  and  next  to  Bernard  Langdon.  As  for 
Dick  himself,  she  seemed  to  be  paying  very  little  at 
tention  to  him.  Sometimes  her  eyes  would  wander  off 
to  Mr.  Bernard,  and  their  expression,  as  old  Dr. 
Kittredge,  who  watched  her  for  a  while  pretty  keenly, 
noticed,  would  change  perceptibly.  One  would  have 


ELSIE  VEM^ER.  309 

said  that  she  looked  with  a  kind  of  dull  hatred  at  the 
girl,  but  with  a  half-relenting  reproachful  anger  at 
Mr.  Bernard. 

Miss  Letty  Forrester,  at  whom  Elsie  had  been  look 
ing  from  time  to  time  in  this  fixed  way,  was  conscious 
meanwhile  of  some  unusual  influence.  First  it  was 
a  feeling  of  constraint,  —  then,  as  it  were,  a  dimin 
ished  power  over  the  muscles,  as  if  an  invisible  elastic 
cobweb  were  spinning  round  her,  —  then  a  tendency 
to  turn  away  from  Mr.  Bernard,  who  was  making  him 
self  very  agreeable,  and  look  straight  into  those  eyes 
which  would  not  leave  her,  and  which  seemed  to  be 
drawing  her  towards  them,  while  at  the  same  time 
they  chilled  the  blood  in  all  her  veins. 

Mr.  Bernard  saw  this  influence  coming  over  her. 
All  at  once  he  noticed  that  she  sighed,  and  that  some 
little  points  of  moisture  began  to  glisten  on  her  fore 
head.  But  she  did  not  grow  pale  perceptibly;  she 
had  no  involuntary  or  hysteric  movements ;  she  still 
listened  to  him  and  smiled  naturally  enough.  Per 
haps  she  was  only  nervous  at  being  stared  at.  At 
any  rate,  she  was  coming  under  some  unpleasant  in 
fluence  or  other,  and  Mr.  Bernard  had  seen  enough 
of  the  strange  impression  Elsie  sometimes  produced  to 
wish  this  young  girl  to  be  relieved  from  it,  whatever 
it  was.  He  turned  toward  Elsie  and  looked  at  her  in 
such  a  way  as  to  draw  her  eyes  upon  him.  Then  he 
looked  steadily  and  calmly  into  them.  It  was  a  great 
effort,  for  some  perfectly  inexplicable  reason.  At 
one  instant  he  thought  he  could  not  sit  where  he  was ; 
he  must  go  and  speak  to  Elsie.  Then  he  wanted  to 
take  his  eyes  away  from  hers ;  there  was  something  in 
tolerable  in  the  light  that  came  from  them.  But  he 
Was  determined  to  look  her  down,  and  he  believed  he 


310  ELSIE   VENNER. 

could  do  it,  for  he  had  seen  her  countenance  change 
more  than  once  when  he  had  caught  her  gaze  steadily 
fixed  on  him.  All  this  took  not  minutes,  but  seconds. 
Presently  she  changed  color  slightly,  —  lifted  her 
head,  which  was  inclined  a  little  to  one  side,  —  shut 
and  opened  her  eyes  two  or  three  times,  as  if  they  had 
been  pained  or  wearied,  —  and  turned  away  baffled, 
and  shamed,  as  it  would  seem,  and  shorn  for  the  time 
of  her  singular  and  formidable  or  at  least  evil-natured 
power  of  swaying  the  impulses  of  those  around  her. 

It  takes  too  long  to  describe  these  scenes  where  a 
good  deal  of  life  is  concentrated  into  a  few  silent  sec 
onds.  Mr.  Richard  Venner  had  sat  quietly  through 
it  all,  although  this  short  pantomime  had  taken  place 
literally  before  his  face.  He  saw  what  was  going  on 
well  enough,  and  understood  it  all  perfectly  well.  Of 
course  the  schoolmaster  had  been  trying  to  make 
Elsie  jealous,  and  had  succeeded.  The  little  school 
girl  was  a  decoy-duck,  —  that  was  all.  Estates  like 
the  Dudley  property  were  not  to  be  had  every  day, 
and  no  doubt  the  Yankee  usher  was  willing  to  take 
some  pains  to  make  sure  of  Elsie.  Does  n't  Elsie  look 
savage?  Dick  involuntarily  moved  his  chair  a  little 
away  from  her,  and  thought  he  felt  a  pricking  in  the 
small  white  scars  on  his  wrist.  A  dare-devil  fellow, 
but  somehow  or  other  this  girl  had  taken  strange  hold 
of  his  imagination,  and  he  often  swore  to  himself, 
that,  when  he  married  her,  he  would  carry  a  loaded 
revolver  with  him  to  his  bridal  chamber. 

Mrs.  Blanche  Creamer  raged  inwardly  at  first  to 
find  herself  between  the  two  old  gentlemen  of  the 
party.  It  very  soon  gave  her  great  comfort,  however, 
to  see  that  Manila  Rowens  had  just  missed  it  in  her 
calculations,  and  she  chuckled  immensely  to  find  Dud- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  311 

ley  Venner  devoting  himself  chiefly  to  Helen  Darley. 
If  the  Rowens  woman  should  hook  Dudley,  she  felt  as 
if  she  should  gnaw  all  her  nails  off  for  spite.  To 
think  of  seeing  her  barouching  about  Rockland  behind 
a  pair  of  long-tailed  bays  and  a  coachman  with  a  band 
on  his  hat,  while  she,  Blanche  Creamer,  was  driving 
herself  about  in  a  one-horse  "carriage  " !  Recovering 
her  spirits  by  degrees,  she  began  playing  her  surfaces 
off  at  the  two  old  Doctors,  just  by  way  of  practice. 
First  she  heaved  up  a  glaring  white  shoulder,  the 
right  one,  so  that  the  Reverend  Doctor  should  be 
stunned  by  it,  if  such  a  thing  might  be.  The  Rever 
end  Doctor  was  human,  as  the  Apostle  was  not 
ashamed  to  confess  himself.  Half -devoutly  and  half- 
mischievously  he  repeated  inwardly,  "Resist  the  Devil 
and  he  will  flee  from  you."  As  the  Reverend  Doctor 
did  not  show  any  lively  susceptibility,  she  thought  she 
would  try  the  left  shoulder  on  old  Dr.  Kittredge. 
That  worthy  and  experienced  student  of  science  was 
not  at  all  displeased  with  the  manoauvre,  and  lifted 
his  head  so  as  to  command  the  exhibition  through  his 
glasses.  "Blanche  is  good  for  half  a  dozen  years  or 
so,  if  she  is  careful,"  the  Doctor  said  to  himself,  "and 
then  she  must  take  to  her  prayer-book."  After  this 
spasmodic  failure  of  Mrs.  Blanche  Creamer's  to  stir 
up  the  old  Doctors,  she  returned  again  to  the  pleasing 
task  of  watching  the  Widow  in  her  evident  discomfi 
ture.  But  dark  as  the  Widow  looked  in  her  half -con 
cealed  pet,  she  was  but  as  a  pale  shadow,  compared  to 
Elsie  in  her  silent  concentration  of  shame  and  anger. 

"Well,  there  is  one  good  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Blanche 
Creamer;  "Dick  doesn't  get  much  out  of  that  cousin 
of  his  this  evening!  Doesn't  he  look  handsome, 
though?" 


312  ELSIE   VENNER. 

So  Mrs.  Blanche,  being  now  a  good  deal  taken  up 
with  her  observations  of  those  friends  of  hers  and 
ours,  began  to  be  rather  careless  of  her  two  old  Doc 
tors,  who  naturally  enough  fell  into  conversation  with 
each  other  across  the  white  surfaces  of  that  lady,  — 
perhaps  not  very  politely,  but,  under  the  circum 
stances,  almost  as  a  matter  of  necessity. 

When  a  minister  and  a  doctor  get  talking  together, 
they  always  have  a  great  deal  to  say ;  and  so  it  hap 
pened  that  the  company  left  the  table  just  as  the  two 
Doctors  were  beginning  to  get  at  each  other's  ideas 
about  various  interesting  matters.  If  we  follow  them 
into  the  other  parlor,  we  can,  perhaps,  pick  up  some 
thing  of  their  conversation. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

WHY   DOCTORS   DIFFER. 

THE  company  rearranged  itself  with  some  changes 
after  leaving  the  tea-table.  Dudley  Venner  was  very 
polite  to  the  Widow;  but  that  lady  having  been  called 
off  for  a  few  moments  for  some  domestic  arrangement, 
he  slid  back  to  the  side  of  Helen  Darley,  his  daugh 
ter's  faithful  teacher.  Elsie  had  got  away  by  herself, 
and  was  taken  up  in  studying  the  stereoscopic  Laocoon. 
Dick,  being  thus  set  free,  had  been  seized  upon  by 
Mrs.  Blanche  Creamer,  who  had  diffused  herself  over 
three-quarters  of  a  sofa  and  beckoned  him  to  the  re 
maining  fourth.  Mr.  Bernard  and  Miss  Letty  were 
having  a  snug  tete-a-tete  in  the  recess  of  a  bay-window. 
The  two  Doctors  had  taken  two  arm-chairs  and  sat 
squared  off  against  each  other.  Their  conversation 
is  perhaps  as  well  worth  reporting  as  that  of  the  rest 
of  the  company,  and,  as  it  was  carried  on  in  a  louder 
tone,  was  of  course  more  easy  to  gather  and  put  on 
record. 

It  was  a  curious  sight  enough  to  see  those  two  rep 
resentatives  of  two  great  professions  brought  face  to 
face  to  talk  over  the  subjects  they  had  been  looking 
at  all  their  lives  from  such  different  points  of  view. 
Both  were  old ;  old  enough  to  have  been  moulded  by 
their  habits  of  thought  and  life ;  old  enough  to  have 
all  their  beliefs  "fretted  in,"  as  vintners  say,  — thor 
oughly  worked  up  with  their  characters.  Each  of 


314  ELSIE   VENNER. 

them  looked  his  calling.  The  Keverend  Doctor  had 
lived  a  good  deal  among  books  in  his  study;  the  Doc 
tor,  as  we  will  call  the  medical  gentleman,  had  been 
riding  about  the  country  for  between  thirty  and  forty 
years.  His  face  looked  tough  and  weather-worn  r 
while  the  Reverend  Doctor's,  hearty  as  it  appeared, 
was  of  finer  texture.  The  Doctor's  was  the  graver  of 
the  two ;  there  was  something  of  grimness  about  it,  — 
partly  owing  to  the  northeasters  he  had  faced  for  so 
many  years,  partly  to  long  companionship  with  that 
stern  personage  who  never  deals  in  sentiment  or  pleas 
antry.  His  speech  was  apt  to  be  brief  and  peremp 
tory  ;  it  was  a  way  he  had  got  by  ordering  patients ; 
but  he  could  discourse  somewhat,  on  occasion,  as  the 
reader  may  find  out.  The  Reverend  Doctor  had  an 
open,  smiling  expiession,  a  cheery  voice,  a  hearty 
laugh,  and  a  cordial  way  with  him  which  some 
thought  too  lively  for  his  cloth,  but  which  children, 
who  are  good  judges  of  such  matters,  delighted  in,  so 
that  he  was  the  favorite  of  all  the  little  rogues  about 
town.  But  he  had  the  clerical  art  of  sobering  down 
in  a  moment,  when  asked  to  say  grace  while  some 
body  was  in  the  middle  of  some  particularly  funny 
story ;  and  though  his  voice  was  so  cheery  in  common 
talk,  in  the  pulpit,  like  almost  all  preachers,  he  had 
a  wholly  different  and  peculiar  way  of  speaking,  sup 
posed  to  be  more  acceptable  to  the  Creator  than  the 
natural  manner.  In  point  of  fact,  most  of  our  anti- 
papal  and  anti-prelatical  clergymen  do  really  intone 
their  prayers,  without  suspecting  in  the  least  that  they 
have  fallen  into  such  a  Romish  practice. 

This  is  the  way  the  conversation  between  the  Doctor 
of  Divinity  and  the  Doctor  of  Medicine  was  going  on 
at  the  point  where  these  notes  take  it  up. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  315 

"  Ubi  tres  medici,  duo  athei,  you  know,  Doctor. 
Your  profession  has  always  had  the  credit  of  being 
lax  in  doctrine,  —  though  pretty  stringent  in  practice, 
ha!  ha!" 

"Some  priest  said  that,"  the  Doctor  answered, 
dryly.  "They  always  talked  Latin  when  they  had  a 
bigger  lie  than  common  to  get  rid  of." 

"Good!"  said  the  Reverend  Doctor;  "I'm  afraid 
they  would  lie  a  little  sometimes.  But  isn't  there 
some  truth  in  it,  Doctor?  Don't  you  think  your  pro 
fession  is  apt  to  see  'Nature'  in  the  place  of  the  God 
of  Nature,  —  to  lose  sight  of  the  great  First  Cause  in 
their  daily  study  of  secondary  causes?  " 

"I've  thought  about  that,"  the  Doctor  answered, 
"and  I  've  talked  about  it  and  read  about  it,  and  I  've 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  nobody  believes  in  God 
and  trusts  in  God  quite  so  much  as  the  doctors;  only 
it  is  n't  just  the  sort  of  Deity  that  some  of  your  pro 
fession  have  wanted  them  to  take  up  with.  There  was 
a  student  of  mine  wrote  a  dissertation  on  the  Natural 
Theology  of  Health  and  Disease,  and  took  that  old 
lying  proverb  for  his  motto.  He  knew  a  good  deal 
more  about  books  than  ever  I  did,  and  had  studied  in 
other  countries.  I  'II  tell  you  what  he  said  about  it. 
He  said  the  old  Heathen  Doctor,  Galen,  praised  God 
for  his  handiwork  in  the  human  body,  just  as  if  he 
had  been  a  Christian,  or  the  Psalmist  himself.  He 
said  they  had  this  sentence  set  up  in  large  letters  in  the 
great  lecture-room  in  Paris  where  he  attended:  1 
dressed  M$  wound  and  God  healed  him.  That  was 
•an  old  surgeon's  saying.  And  he  gave  a  long  list  of 
doctors  who  were  not  only  Christians,  but  famous 
ones.  I  grant  you,  though,  ministers  and  doctors  are 
very  apt  to  see  differently  in  spiritual  matters." 


316  ELSIE   VENNER. 

'"That 's  it,"  said  the  Reverend  Doctor;  "you  are 
apt  to  see  'Nature  '  where  we  see  God,  and  appeal  to 
'Science  '  where  we  are  contented  with  Revelation." 

"We  don't  separate  God  and  Nature,  perhaps,  as 
you  do,"  the  Doctor  answered.  "When  we  say  that 
God  is  omnipresent  and  omnipotent  and  omniscient, 
we  are  a  little  more  apt  to  mean  it  than  your  folks  are. 
We  think,  when  a  wound  heals,  that  God's  presence 
and  power  and  knowledge  are  there,  healing  it,  just  as 
that  old  surgeon  did.  We  think  a  good  many  theo 
logians,  working  among  their  books,  don't  see  the 
facts  of  the  world  they  live  in.  When  we  tell  'em  of 
these  facts,  they  are  apt  to  call  us  materialists  and 
atheists  and  infidels,  and  all  that.  We  can't  help 
seeing  the  facts,  and  we  don't  think  it 's  wicked  to 
mention  'em." 

"Do  tell  me,"  the  Reverend  Doctor  said,  "some  of 
these  facts  we  are  in  the  habit  of  overlooking,  and 
which  your  profession  thinks  it  can  see  and  under, 
stand." 

"That 's  very  easy,"  the  Doctor  replied.  "For  in 
stance  :  you  don't  understand  or  don't  allow  for  idi 
osyncrasies  as  we  learn  to.  We  know  that  food  and 
physic  act  differently  with  different  people ;  but  you 
think  the  same  kind  of  truth  is  going  to  suit,  or  ought 
to  suit,  all  minds.  We  don't  fight  with  a  patient  be 
cause  he  can't  take  magnesia  or  opium ;  but  you  are 
all  the  time  quarrelling  over  your  beliefs,  as  if  belief 
did  not  depend  very  much  on  race  and  constitution, 
to  say  nothing  of  early  training." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  every  man  is  not  abso 
lutely  free  to  choose  his  beliefs?  " 

"The  men  you  write  about  in  your  studies  are,  but 
not  the  men  we  see  in  the  real  world.  There  is  some 


ELSIE   VENNER.  317 

apparently  congenital  defect  in  the  Indians,  for  in 
stance,  that  keeps  them  from  choosing  civilization  and 
Christianity.  So  with  the  Gypsies,  very  likely. 
Everybody  knows  that  Catholicism  or  Protestantism 
is  a  good  deal  a  matter  of  race.  Constitution  has 
more  to  do  with  belief  than  people  think  for.  I  went 
to  a  Universalist  church,  when  I  was  in  the  city  one 
day,  to  hear  a  famous  man  whom  all  the  world  knows, 
and  I  never  saw  such  pews -full  of  broad  shoulders  and 
florid  faces,  and  substantial,  wholesome-looking  per 
sons,  male  and  female,  in  all  my  life.  Why,  it  was 
astonishing.  Either  their  creed  made  them  healthy, 
or  they  chose  it  because  they  were  healthy.  Your 
folks  have  never  got  the  hang  of  human  nature." 

"I  am  afraid  this  would  be  considered  a  degrading 
and  dangerous  view  of  human  beliefs  and  responsibil 
ity  for  them,"  the  Reverend  Doctor  replied.  "Prove 
to  a  man  that  his  will  is  governed  by  something  outside 
of  himself,  and  you  have  lost  all  hold  on  his  moral  and 
religious  nature.  There  is  nothing  bad  men  want  to 
believe  so  much  as  that  they  are  governed  by  neces 
sity.  Now  that  which  is  at  once  degrading  and  dan 
gerous  cannot  be  true." 

"No  doubt,"  the  Doctor  replied,  "all  large  views 
of  mankind  limit  our  estimate  of  the  absolute  freedom 
of  the  will.  But  I  don't  think  it  degrades  or  endan 
gers  us,  for  this  reason,  that,  while  it  makes  us  chari 
table  to  the  rest  of  mankind,  our  own  sense  of  freedom, 
whatever  it  is,  is  never  affected  by  argument.  Con 
science  won't  be  reasoned  with.  We  feel  that  we  can 
practically  do  this  or  that,  and  if  we  choose  the  wrong, 
we  know  we  are  responsible ;  but  observation  teaches 
us  that  this  or  that  other  race  or  individual  has  not  the 
same  practical  freedom  of  choice,  I  don't  see  how  we 


318  ELSIE   VENNER. 

can  avoid  this  conclusion  in  the  instance  of  the  Amer 
ican  Indians.  The  science  of  Ethnology  has  upset  a 
good  many  theoretical  notions  about  human  nature." 

"Science!"  said  the  Reverend  Doctor,  "science! 
that  was  a  word  the  Apostle  Paul  did  not  seem  to 
think  much  of,  if  we  may  judge  by  the  Epistle  to 
Timothy:  'Oppositions  of  science  falsely  so  called.' 
I  own  that  I  am  jealous  of  that  word  and  the  preten 
sions  that  go  with  it.  Science  has  seemed  to  me  to  be 
very  often  only  the  handmaid  of  skepticism." 

"  Doctor !  "  the  physician  said,  emphatically,  "  science 
is  knowledge.  Nothing  that  is  not  known  properly 
belongs  to  science.  Whenever  knowledge  obliges  us 
to  doubt,  we  are  always  safe  in  doubting.  Astrono 
mers  foretell  eclipses,  say  how  long  comets  are  to  stay 
with  us,  point  out  where  a  new  planet  is  to  be  found. 
We  see  they  know  what  they  assert,  and  the  poor  old 
Roman  Catholic  Church  has  at  last  to  knock  under. 
So  Geology  proves  a  certain  succession  of  events,  and 
the  best  Christian  in  the  world  must  make  the  earth's 
history  square  with  it.  Besides,  I  don't  think  you 
remember  what  great  revelations  of  himself  the  Crea 
tor  has  made  in  the  minds  of  the  men  who  have  built 
up  science.  You  seem  to  me  to  hold  his  human  mas 
terpieces  very  cheap.  Don't  you  think  the  'inspira 
tion  of  the  Almighty  '  gave  Newton  and  Cuvier  'un 
derstanding  '  ?  " 

The  Reverend  Doctor  was  not  arguing  for  victory. 
In  fact,  what  he  wanted  was  to  call  out  the  opinions 
of  the  old  physician  by  a  show  of  opposition,  being 
already  predisposed  to  agree  with  many  of  them.  He 
was  rather  trying  the  common  arguments,  as  one  tries 
tricks  of  fence  merely  to  learn  the  way  of  parrying. 
But  just  here  he  saw  a  tempting  opening,  and  could 
not  resist  giving  a  home-thrust. 


SIE  VENNER.  319 

"Yes;  but  you  surely  would  not  consider  it  inspi 
ration  of  the  same  kind  as  that  of  the  writers  of  the 
Old  Testament?  " 

That  cornered  the  Doctor,  and  he  paused  a  moment 
before  he  replied.  Then  he  raised  his  head,  so  as  to 
command  the  Reverend  Doctor's  face  through  his 
spectacles,  and  said,  — 

"I  did  not  say  that.  You  are  clear,  I  suppose, 
that  the  Omniscient  spoke  through  Solomon,  but  that 
Shakespeare  wrote  without  his  help?  " 

The  Reverend  Doctor  looked  very  grave.  It  was  a 
bold,  blunt  way  of  putting  the  question.  He  turned 
it  aside  with  the  remark,  that  Shakespeare  seemed  to 
him  at  times  to  come  as  near  inspiration  as  any  human 
being  not  included  among  the  sacred  writers. 

"Doctor,"  the  physician  began,  as  from  a  sudden 
suggestion,  "you  won't  quarrel  with  me,  if  I  tell  you 
some  of  my  real  thoughts,  will  you?  " 

"Say  on,  my  dear  Sir,  say  on,"  the  minister  an- 
iswered,  with  his  most  genial  smile;  "your  real 
thoughts  are  just  what  I  want  to  get  at.  A  man's 
real  thoughts  are  a  great  rarity.  If  I  don't  agree 
with  you,  I  shall  like  to  hear  you." 

The  Doctor  began ;  and  in  order  to  give  his  thoughts 
more  connectedly,  we  will  omit  the  conversational 
breaks,  the  questions  and  comments  of  the  clergyman, 
and  all  accidental  interruptions. 

"When  the  old  ecclesiastics  said  that  where  there 
were  three  doctors  there  were  two  atheists,  they  lied, 
.of  course.  They  called  everybody  who  differed  from 
them  atheists,  until  they  found  out  that  not  believing 
:iii  God  was  n't  nearly  so  ugly  a  crime  as  not  believ 
ing  in  some  particular  dogma ;  then  they  called  them 


320  ELSIE   VENNER. 

heretics,  until  so  many  good  people  had  been  burned 
under  that  name  that  it  began  to  smell  too  strong  of 
roasting  flesh,  —  and  after  that  infidels,  which  prop 
erly  means  people  without  faith,  of  whom  there  are 
not  a  great  many  in  any  place  or  time.  But  then,  of 
course,  there  was  some  reason  why  doctors  should  n't 
think  about  religion  exactly  as  ministers  did,  or  they 
never  would  have  made  that  proverb.  It 's  very  likely 
that  something  of  the  same  kind  is  true  now ;  whether 
it  is  so  or  not,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  reasons  why 
it  would  not  be  strange,  if  doctors  should  take  rather 
different  views  from  clergymen  about  some  matters  of 
belief.  I  don't,  of  course,  mean  all  doctors  nor  all 
clergymen.  Some  doctors  go  as  far  as  any  old  New- 
England  divine,  and  some  clergymen  agree  very  well 
with  the  doctors  that  think  least  according  to  rule. 

"To  begin  with  their  ideas  of  the  Creator  himself. 
They  always  see  him  trying  to  help  his  creatures 
out  of  their  troubles.  A  man  no  sooner  gets  a  cut, 
than  the  Great  Physician,  whose  agency  we  often  call 
Nature,  goes  to  work,  first  to  stop  the  blood,  and 
then  to  heal  the  wound,  and  then  to  make  the  scar  as 
small  as  possible.  If  a  man's  pain  exceeds  a  certain 
amount,  he  faints,  and  so  gets  relief.  If  it  lasts  too 
long,  habit  comes  in  to  make  it  tolerable.  If  it  is 
altogether  too  bad,  he  dies.  That  is  the  best  thing 
to  be  done  under  the  circumstances.  So  you  see,  the 
doctor  is  constantly  in  presence  of  a  benevolent  agency 
working  against  a  settled  order  of  things,  of  which 
pain  and  disease  are  the  accidents,  so  to  speak. 
Well,  no  doubt  they  find  it  harder  than  clergymen  to 
believe  that  there  can  be  any  world  or  state  from 
which  this  benevolent  agency  is  wholly  excluded. 
This  may  be  very  wrong;  but  it  is  not  unnatural. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  321 

They  can  hardly  conceive  of  a  permanent  state  of 
being  in  which  cuts  would  never  try  to  heal,  nor  habit 
render  suffering  endurable.  This  is  one  effect  of 
their  training. 

"Then,  again,  their  attention  is  very  much  called 
to  human  limitations.  Ministers  work  out  the  ma 
chinery  of  responsibility  in  an  abstract  kind  of  way; 
they  have  a  sort  of  algebra  of  human  nature,  in  which 
friction  and  strength  (or  weakness)  of  material  are 
left  out.  You  see,  a  doctor  is  in  the  way  of  studying 
children  from  the  moment  of  birth  upwards.  For  the 
first  year  or  so  he  sees  that  they  are  just  as  much  pu 
pils  of  their  Maker  as  the  young  of  any  other  animals. 
Well,  their  Maker  trains  them  to  pure  selfishness. 
Why  ?  In  order  that  they  may  be  sure  to  take  care 
of  themselves.  So  you  see,  when  a  child  comes  to  be, 
we  will  say  a  year  and  a  day  old,  and  makes  his  first 
choice  between  right  and  wrong,  he  is  at  a  disadvan 
tage  ;  for  he  has  that  vis  a  tergo,  as  we  doctors  call 
;  it,  that  force  from  behind,  of  a  whole  year's  life  of 
i  selfishness,  for  which  he  is  no  more  to  blame  than  a 
calf  is  to  blame  for  having  lived  in  the  same  way, 
purely  to  gratify  his  natural  appetites.  Then  we  seo 
that  baby  grow  up  to  a  child,  and,  if  he  is  fat  and 
stout  and  red  and  lively,  we  expect  to  find  him  trou- 
|  blesome  and  noisy,  and,  perhaps,  sometimes  disobedi- 
i  ent  more  or  less;  that 's  the  way  each  new  generation 
breaks  its  egg-shell;  but  if  he  is  very  weak  and  thin, 
and  is  one  of  the  kind  that  may  be  expected  to  die 
early,  he  will  very  likely  sit  in  the  house  all  day  and 
read  good  books  about  ot^ier  little  sharp-faced  chil 
dren  just  like  himself,  who  died  early,  having  always 
been  perfectly  indifferent  to  all  the  out-door  amuse 
ments  of  the  wicked  little  red-cheeked  children. 


322  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Some  of  the  little  folks  we  watch  grow  up  to  be  young 
women,  and  occasionally  one  of  them  gets  nervous, 
what  we  call  hysterical,  and  then  that  girl  will  begin  to 
play  all  sorts  of  pranks,  —  to  lie  and  cheat,  perhaps, 
in  the  most  unaccountable  way,  so  that  she  might 
seem  to  a  minister  a  good  example  of  total  depravity. 
We  don't  see  her  in  that  light.  We  give  her  iron 
and  valerian,  and  get  her  on  horseback,  if  we  can, 
and  so  expect  to  make  her  will  come  all  right  again. 
By  and  by  we  are  called  in  to  see  an  old  baby,  three 
score  years  and  ten  or  more  old.  We  find  this  old 
baby  has  never  got  rid  of  that  first  year's  teaching 
which  led  him  to  fill  his  stomach  with  all  he  could 
pump  into  it,  and  his  hands  with  everything  he  could 
grab.  People  call  him  a  miser.  We  are  sorry  for 
him;  but  we  can't  help  remembering  his  first  year's 
training,  and  the  natural  effect  of  money  on  the  great 
majority  of  those  that  have  it.  So  while  the  minis 
ters  say  he  'shall  hardly  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,'  we  like  to  remind  them  that  'with  God  all 
things  are  possible.' 

"Once  more,  we  see  all  kinds  of  monomania  and 
insanity.  We  learn  from  them  to  recognize  all  sorts 
of  queer  tendencies  in  minds  supposed  to  be  sane,  so 
that  we  have  nothing  but  compassion  for  a  large  class 
of  persons  condemned  as  sinners  by  theologians,  but 
considered  by  us  as  invalids.  We  have  constant  rea 
sons  for  noticing  the_ transmission  of  qualities  from 
parents  to  offspring,  and  we  find  it  hard  to  hold -a 
child  accountable  in  any  moral  point  of  view  for  in 
herited  bad  temper  or  tendency  to  drunkenness,  —  as 
hard  as  we  should  to  blame  him  for  inheriting  gout  or 
asthma.  I  suppose  we  are  more  lenient  with  human 
nature  than  theologians  generally  are.  We  know  that 


ELSIE   VENNER.  323 

the  spirits  of  men  and  their  views  of  the  present  and 
the  future  go  up  and  down  with  the  barometer,  and 
that  a  permanent  depression  of  one  inch  in  the  mer 
curial  column  would  affect  the  whole  theology  of 
Christendom. 

"Ministers  talk  about  the  human  will  as  if  it  stood 
on  a  high  look-out,  with  plenty  of  light,  and  elbow- 
room  reaching  to  the  horizon.  Doctors  are  constantly 
noticing  how  it  is  tied  up  and  darkened  by  inferior 
organization,  by  disease,  and  all  sorts  of  crowding  in 
terferences,  until  they  get  to  look  upon  Hottentots 
and  Indians  —  and  a  good  many  of  their  own  race  — 
as  a  kind  of  self-conscious  blood-clocks  with  very 
limited  power  of  self-determination.  That 's  the  ten 
dency,  I  say,  of  a  doctor's  experience.  But  the  peo 
ple  to  whom  they  address  their  statements  of  the  re 
sults  of  their  observation  belong  to  the  thinking  class 
of  the  highest  races,  and  they  are  conscious  of  a  great 
deal  of  liberty  of  will.  So  in  the  face  of  the  fact 
that  civilization  with  all  it  offers  has  proved  a  dead 
failure  with  the  aboriginal  races  of  this  country,  —  on 
the  whole,  I  say,  a  dead  failure,  —  they  talk  as  if  they 
knew  from  their  own  will  all  about  that  of  a  Digger 
Indian!  We  are  more  apt  to  go  by  observation  of 
the  facts  in  the  case.  We  are  constantly  seeing  weak 
ness  where  you  see  depravity.  I  don't  say  we  're 
right;  I  only  tell  what  you  must  often  find  to  be  the 
fact,  right  or  wrong,  in  talking  with  doctors.  You 
see,  too,  our  notions  of  bodily  and  moral  disease,  or 
sin,  are  apt  to  go  together.  We  used  to  be  as  hard 
on  sickness  as  you  were  on  sin.  We  know  better 
now.  We  don't  look  at  sickness  as  we  used  to,  and 
try  to  poison  it  with  everything  that  is  offensive,  — 
burnt  toads  and  earth-worms  and  viper-broth,  and 


324  ELSIE  VENNER. 

worse  things  than  these.  We  know  that  disease  has 
something  back  of  it  which  the  body  is  n't  to  blame 
for,  at  least  in  most  cases,  and  which  very  often  it  is 
trying  to  get  rid  of.  Just  so  with  sin.  I  will  agree 
to  take  a  hundred  new-born  babes  of  a  certain  stock 
and  return  seventy -five  of  them  in  a  dozen  years  true 
and  honest,  if  not  'pious  '  children.  And  I  will  take 
another  hundred,  of  a  different  stock,  and  put  them 
in  the  hands  of  certain  Ann-Street  or  Five-Points 
teachers,  and  seventy-five  of  them  will  be  thieves  and 
liars  at  the  end  of  the  same  dozen  years.  I  have 
heard  of  an  old  character,  Colonel  Jaques,  I  believe 
it  was,  a  famous  cattle-breeder,  who  used  to  say  he 
could  breed  to  pretty  much  any  pattern  he  wanted  to. 
Well,  we  doctors  see  so  much  of  families,  how  the 
tricks  of  the  blood  keep  breaking  out,  just  as  much  in 
character  as  they  do  in  looks,  that  we  can't  help  feel 
ing  as  if  a  great  many  people  hadn't  a  fair  chance  to 
be  what  is  called  'good,'  and  that  there  isn't  a  text  in 
the  Bible  better  worth  keeping  always  in  mind  than 
that  one,  'Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged. ' 

"As  for  our  getting  any  quarter  at  the  hands  of 
theologians,  we  don't  expect  it,  and  have  no  right  to. 
You  don't  give  each  other  any  quarter.  I  have  had 
two  religious  books  sent  me  by  friends  within  a  week 
or  two.  One  is  Mr.  Brownson's;  he  is  as  fair  and 
square  as  Euclid ;  a  real  honest,  strong  thinker,  and 
one  that  knows  what  he  is  talking  about,  —  for  he  has 
tried  all  sorts  of  religions,  pretty  much.  He  tells  us 
that  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  is  the  one  'through 
which  alone  we  can  hope  for  heaven.'  The  other  is 
by  a  worthy  Episcopal  rector,  who  appears  to  write  as 
if  he  were  in  earnest,  and  he  calls  the  Papacy  the 
*Devil's  Masterpiece,'  and  talks  about  the  'Satanic 


ELSIE   VEKNER.  325 

scheme'  of  that  very  Church  'through  which  alone,'  as 
Mr.  Brownson  tells  us,  'we  can  hope  for  heaven ' ! 
What 's  the  use  in  our  caring  about  hard  words  after 
this, — 'atheists,'  heretics,  infidels,  and  the  like? 
They  're,  after  all,  only  the  cinders  picked  up  out  of 
those  heaps  of  ashes  round  the  stumps  of  the  old  stakes 
where  they  used  to  burn  men,  women,  and  children 
for  not  thinking  just  like  other  folks.  They  Tll  'crock' 
your  fingers,  but  they  can't  burn  us.  "\ 

"Doctors  are  the  best-natured  people  in  the  world, 
except  when  they  get  fighting  with  each  other.  And 
they  have  some  advantages  over  you.  You  inherit  your 
notions  from  a  set  of  priests  that  had  no  wives  and 
no  children,  or  none  to  speak  of,  and  so  let  their  hu 
manity  die  out  of  them.  It  didn't  seem  much  to 
them  to  condemn  a  few  thousand  millions  of  people  to 
purgatory  or  worse  for  a  mistake  of  judgment.  They 
did  n't  know  what  it  was  to  have  a  child  look  up  in 
their  faces  and  say  'Father ! '  It  will  take  you  a  hun 
dred  or  two  more  years  to  get  decently  humanized, 
after  so  many  centuries  of  t?e-humanizing  celibacy. 

"Besides,  though  our  libraries  are,  perhaps,  not 
commonly  quite  so  big  as  yours,  God  opens  one  book 
to  physicians  that  a  good  many  of  you  don't  know 
much  about,  —  the  Book  of  Life.  That  is  none  of 
|  your  dusty  folios  with  black  letters  between  paste 
board  and  leather,  but  it  is  printed  in  bright  red 
type,  and  the  binding  of  it  is  warm  and  tender  to 
!  every  touch.  They  reverence  that  book  as  one  of  the 
Almighty's  infallible  revelations.  They  will  insist  on 
}  reading  you  lessons  out  of  it,  whether  you  call  them 
t  names  or  not.  These  will  always  be  lessons  of  char- 
Jity.  No  doubt,  nothing  can  be  more  provoking  to 
i  listen  to.  But  do  beg  your  folks  to  remember  that  the 


326  ELSIE  VENNER. 

Smithfield  fires  are  all  out,  and  that  the  cinders  are 
very  dirty  and  not  in  the  least  dangerous.  They  'd  a 
great  deal  better  be  civil,  and  not  be  throwing  old 
proverbs  in  the  doctors'  faces,  when  they  say  that  the 
man  of  the  old  monkish  notions  is  one  thing  and  the 
man  they  watch  from  his  cradle  to  his  coffin  is  some« 
tMng  very  different." 

It  has  cost  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  work  the  Doc 
tor's  talk  up  into  this  formal  shape.  Some  of  his  sen 
tences  have  been  rounded  off  for  him,  and  the  whole 
brought  into  a  more  rhetorical  form  than  it  could 
have  pretended  to.,  if  taken  as  it  fell  from  his  lips. 
But  the  exact  course  of  his  remarks  has  been  fol 
lowed,  and  as  far  as  possible  his  expressions  have  been 
retained.  Though  given  in  the  form  of  a  discourse, 
it  must  be  remembered  that  this  was  a  conversation, 
much  more  fragmentary  and  colloquial  than  it  seems 
as  just  read. 

The  Reverend  Doctor  was  very  far  from  taking 
offence  at  the  old  physician's  freedom  of  speech.  He 
knew  him  to  be  honest,  kind,  charitable,  self-denying, 
wherever  any  sorrow  was  to  be  alleviated,  always  rev 
erential,  with  a  cheerful  trust  in  the  great  Father  of 
all  mankind.  To  be  sure,  his  senior  deacon,  olc 
Deacon  Shearer,  —  who  seemed  to  have  got  his  Scrij 
ture-teachings  out  of  the  "Vinegar  Bible,"  (the  one 
where  Vineyard  is  misprinted  Vinegar,  which  a  goc 
many  people  seem  to  have  adopted  as  the  true  read 
ing,) —  his  senior  deacon  had  called  Dr.  Kittredge 
"infidel."  But  the  Reverend  Doctor  could  not  hell 
feeling,  that,  unless  the  text,  "  By  their  fruits  ye  shs 
know  them,"  were  an  interpolation,  the  Doctor  wa 
the  better  Christian  of  the  two.  Whatever  his  senic 


ELSIE  VENNEB.  327 

deacon  might  think  about  it,  he  said  to  himself  that 
he  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  met  the  Doctor  in 
heaven  yet,  inquiring  anxiously  after  old  Deacon 
Shearer. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  expressing  himself  very 
frankly  to  the  Doctor,  with  that  benevolent  smile  on 
his  face  which  had  sometimes  come  near  giving  of-= 
fence  to  the  readers  of  the  "Vinegar  "  edition,  but  he 
saw  that  the. physician's  attention  had  been  arrested 
by  Elsie.  He  looked  in  the  same  direction  himself, 
and  could  not  help  being  struck  by  her  attitude  and 
expression.  There  was  something  singularly  graceful 
in  the  curves  of  her  neck  and  the  rest  of  her  figure, 
but  she  was  so  perfectly  still  that  it  seemed  as  if  she 
were  hardly  breathing.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
young  girl  with  whom  Mr.  Bernard  was  talking.  He 
had  often  noticed  their  brilliancy,  but  now  it  seemed 
to  him  that  they  appeared  dull,  and  the  look  on  her 
features  was  as  of  some  passion  which  had  missed  its 
stroke.  Mr.  Bernard's  companion  seemed  uncon 
scious  that  she  was  the  object  of  this  attention,  and 
was  listening  to  the  young  master  as  if  he  had  suc 
ceeded  in  making  himself  very  agreeable. 

Of  course  Dick  Venner  had  not  mistaken  the  game 
that  was  going  on.  The  schoolmaster  meant  to  make 
Elsie  jealous,  — and  he  had  done  it.  That 's  it:  get 
her  savage  first,  and  then  come  wheedling  round  her, 
—  a  sure  trick,  if  he  is  n't  headed  off  somehow.  But 
Dick  saw  well  enough  that  he  had  better  let  Elsie 
alone  just  now,  and  thought  the  best  way  of  killing 
the  evening  would  be  to  amuse  himself  in  a  little 
lively  talk  with  Mrs.  Blanche  Creamer,  and  incident 
ally  to  show  Elsie  that  he  could  make  himself  accept 
able  to  other  women,  if  not  to  herself. 


328  ELSIE   VENNER. 

The  Doctor  presently  went  up  to  Elsie,  determined 
to  engage  her  in  conversation  and  get  her  out  of  her 
thoughts,  which  he  saw,  by  her  look,  were  dangerous. 
Her  father  had  been  on  the  point  of  leaving  Helen 
Darley  to  go  to  her,  but  felt  easy  enough  when  he  saw 
the  old  Doctor  at  her  side,  and  so  went  on  talking. 
The  Reverend  Doctor,  being  now  left  alone,  engaged 
the  Widow  Rowens,  who  put  the  best  face  on  her 
vexation  she  could,  but  was  devoting  herself  to  all  the 
underground  deities  for  having  been  such  a  fool  as  to 
ask  that  pale-faced  thing  from  the  Institute  to  fill  up 
her  party. 

There  is  no  space  left  to  report  the  rest  of  the  con 
versation.  If  there  was  anything  of  any  significance 
in  it,  it  will  turn  up  by  and  by,  no  doubt.  At  ten 
o'clock  the  Reverend  Doctor  called  Miss  Letty,  who 
had  no  idea  it  was  so  late ;  Mr.  Bernard  gave  his  arm 
to  Helen;  Mr.  Richard  saw  to  Mrs.  Blanche 
Creamer;  the  Doctor  gave  Elsie  a  cautioning  look, 
and  went  off  alone,  thoughtful;  Dudley  Venner  and 
his  daughter  got  into  their  carriage  and  were  whirled 
away.  The  Widow's  gambit  was  played,  and  she  had 
not  won  the  game. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  WILD  HUNTSMAN. 

THE  young  master  had  not  forgotten  the  old  Doe-  • 
tor's  cautions.  Without  attributing  any  great  im 
portance  to  the  warning  he  had  given  him,  Mr.  Ber 
nard  had  so  far  complied  with  his  advice  that  he  was 
becoming  a  pretty  good  shot  with  the  pistol.  It  was 
an  amusement  as  good  as  many  others  to  practise,  and 
he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  it  after  the  first  few  days. 

The  popping  of  a  pistol  at  odd  hours  in  the  back 
yard  of  the  Institute  was  a  phenomenon  more  than 
sufficiently  remarkable  to  be  talked  about  in  Rockland. 
Th3  viscous  intelligence  of  a  country-village  is  not 
easily  stirred  by  the  winds  which  ripple  the  fluent 
thought  of  great  cities,  but  it  holds  every  straw  and 
entangles  every  insect  that  lights  upon  it.  It  soon 
became  rumored  in  the  town  that  the  young  master 
was  a  wonderful  shot  with  the  pistol.  Some  said  he 
could  hit  a  fo 'pence-ha'penny  at  three  rod;  some, 
that  he  had  shot  a  swallow,  flying,  with  a  single  ball ; 
some,  that  he  snuffed  a  candle  five  times  out  of  six  at 
ten  paces,  and  that  he  could  hit  any  button  in  a  man's 
coat  he  wanted  to.  In  other  words,  as  in  all  such 
cases,  all  the  common  feats  were  ascribed  to  him,  as 
the  current  jokes  of  the  day  are  laid  at  the  door  of 
any  noted  wit,  however  innocent  he  may  be  of  them. 

In  the  natural  course  of  things,  Mr.  Richard  Ven- 
ner,  who  had  by  this  time  made  some  acquaintances, 


/ge 
/  th 


330  ELSIE  VENNER. 

as  we  have  seen,  among  that  class  of  the  population 
least  likely  to  allow  a  live  cinder  of  gossip  to  go  out 
for  want  of  air,  had  heard  incidentally  that  the  master 
up  there  at  the  Institute  was  all  the  time  practising 
with  a  pistol,  that  they  say  he  can  snuff  a  candle  at 
ten  rods,  (that  was  Mrs.  Blanche  Creamer's  version,) 
and  that  he  could  hit  anybody  he  wanted  to  right  in 
the  eye,  as  far  as  he  could  see  the  white  of  it. 

Dick  did  not  like  the  sound  of  all  this  any  too  well. 
Without  believing  more  than  half  of  it,  there  waa 
enough  to  make  the  Yankee  schoolmaster  too  unsafe 
to  be  trifled  with.  However,  shooting  at  a  mark  was 
pleasant  work  enough;  he  had  no  particular  objection 
to  it  himself.  Only  he  did  not  care  so  much  for  those 
little  popgun  affairs  that  a  man  carries  in  his  pocket, 
and  with  which  you  couldn't  shoot  a  fellow,  — a  rob 
ber,  say,  —  without  getting  the  muzzle  under  his  nose. 
Pistols  for  boys;  long-range  rifles  for  men.  There 
was  such  a  gun  lying  in  a  closet  with  the  fowling- 
pieces.  He  would  go  out  into  the  fields  and  see  what 
he  could  do  as  a  marksman. 

The  nature  of  the  mark  which  Dick  chose  for  exper 
imenting  upon  was  singular.  He  had  found  some 
panes  of  glass  which  had  been  removed  from  an  old 
sash,  and  he  placed  these  successively  before  his  tar 
get,  arranging  them  at  different  angles.  He  found 
at  a  bullet  would  go  through  the  glass  without  glan 
cing  or  having  its  force  materially  abated.  It  was  an 
interesting  fact  in  physics,  and  might  prove  of  some 
practical  significance  hereafter.  Nobody  knows  what 
may  turn  up  to  render  these  out-of-the-way  facts  use 
ful.  All  this  was  done  in  a  quiet  way  in  one  of  the 
bare  spots  high  up  the  side  of  The  Mountain.  He 
was  very  thoughtful  in  taking  the  precaution  to  get 


ELSIE   VENNER.  381 

so  far  away;  rifle-bullets  are  apt  to  glance  and  come 
whizzing  about  people's  ears,  if  they  are  fired  in  the 
neighborhood  of  houses.  Dick  satisfied  himself  that 
he  could  be  tolerably  sure  of  hitting  a  pane  of  glass  at 
,a  distance  of  thirty  rods,  more  or  less,  and  that,  if 
there  happened  to  be  anything  behind  it,  the  glass 
would  not  materially  alter  the  force  or  direction  o£ 
the  bullet. 

About  this  time  it  occurred  to  him  also  that  there 
.  was  an  old  accomplishment  of  his  which  he  would  be 
in  danger  of  losing  for  want  of  practice,  if  he  did  not 
take  some  opportunity  to  try  his  hand  and  regain  its 
cunning,  if  it  had  begun  to  be  diminished  by  disuse. 
For  his  first  trial,  he  chose  an  evening  when  the  moon 
was  shining,  and  after  the  hour  when  the  Rockland 
people  were  like  to  be  stirring  abroad.  He  was  so 
far  established  now  that  he  could  do  much  as  he 
pleased  without  exciting  remark. 

The  prairie  horse  he  rode,  the  mustang  of  the  Pam 
pas,  wild  as  he  was,  had  been  trained  to  take  part  in 
at  least  one  exercise.  This  was  the  accomplishment  in 
which  Mr.  Richard  now  proposed  to  try  himself. 
For  this  purpose  he  sought  the  implement  of  which, 
as  it  may  be  remembered,  he  had  once  made  an  inci 
dental  use,  —  the  lasso,  or  long  strip  of  hide  with  a 
slip-noose  at  the  end  of  it.  He  had  been  accustomed 
to  playing  with  such  a  thong  from  his  boyhood,  and 
had  become  expert  in  its  use  in  capturing  wild  cattle 
in  the  course  of  his  adventures.  Unfortunately,  there 
were  no  wild  bulls  likely  to  be  met  with  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  to  become  the  subjects  of  his  skill.  A  stray 
cow  in  the  road,  an  ox  or  a  horse  in  a  pasture,  must 
serve  his  turn,  —  dull  beasts,  but  moving  marks  to 
aim  at,  at  any  rate. 


332  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Never,  since  he  had  galloped  in  the  chase  over 
the  Pampas,  had  Dick  Vernier  felt  such  a  sense  of  life 
and  power  as  when  he  struck  the  long  spurs  into  his 
wild  horse's  flanks,  and  dashed  along  the  road  with 
the  lasso  lying  like  a  coiled  snake  at  the  saddle-bow. 
In  skilful  hands,  the  silent,  bloodless  noose,  flyin 
like  an  arrow,  but  not  like  that  leaving  a  wound  be= 
hind  it,  —  sudden  as  a  pistol-shot,  but  without  the  tell 
tale  explosion,  —  is  one  of  the  most  fearful  and  mys 
terious  weapons  that  arm  the  hand  of  man.  The  old 
Romans  knew  how  formidable,  even  in  contest  with 
a  gladiator  equipped  with  sword,  helmet,  and  shield, 
was  the  almost  naked  retiarius,  with  his  net  in  one 
hand  and  his  three-pronged  javelin  in  the  other. 
Once  get  a  net  over  a  man's  head,  or  a  cord  round 
his  neck,  or,  what  is  more  frequently  done  nowadays, 
bonnet  him  by  knocking  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes, 
and  he  is  at  the  mercy  of  his  opponent.  Our  soldiers 
who  served  against  the  Mexicans  found  this  out  too 
well.  Many  a  poor  fellow  has  been  lassoed  by  the 
fierce  riders  from  the  plains,  and  fallen  an  easy  victim 
to  the  captor  who  had  snared  him  in  the  fatal  noose. 

But,  imposing  as  the  sight  of  the  wild  huntsmen  of 
the  Pampas  might  have  been,  Dick  could  not  help 
laughing  at  the  mock  sublimity  of  his  situation,  as  he 
tried  his  first  experiment  on  an  unhappy  milky  mother 
who  had  strayed  from  her  herd  and  was  wandering 
disconsolately  along  the  road,  laying  the  dust,  as  she 
went,  with  thready  streams  from  her  swollen,  swinging 
udders.  "Here  goes  the  Don  at  the  windmill!  "  said 
Dick,  and  tilted  full  speed  at  her,  whirling  the  lasso 
round  his  head  as  he  rode.  The  creature  swerved  to 
one  side  of  the  way,  as  the  wild  horse  and  his  rider 
came  rushing  down  upon  her,  and  presently  turned 


ELSIE  VENNER.  333 

and  ran,  as  only  cows  and it  would  n't  be  safe 

to  say  it  —  can  run .  Just  before  he  passed,  —  at 
twenty  or  thirty  feet  from  her,  — the  lasso  shot  from 
his  hand,  uncoiling  as  it  flew,  and  in  an  instant  its 
loop  was  round  her  horns.  "Well  cast!  "  said  Dick, 
as  he  galloped  up  to  her  side  and  dexterously  disen- 
gaged  the  lasso.  "Now  for  a  horse  on  the  run!  " 

He  had  the  good  luck  to  find  one,  presently,  graz= 
ing  in  a  pasture  at  the  road-side.  Taking  down  the 
rails  of  the  fence  at  one  point,  he  drove  the  horse 
into  the  road  and  gave  chase.  It  was  a  lively  young 
animal  enough,  and  was  easily  roused  to  a  pretty  fast 
pace.  As  his  gallop  grew  more  and  more  rapid,  Dick 
gave  the  reins  to  the  mustang,  until  the  two  horses 
stretched  themselves  out  in  their  longest  strides.  If 
the  first  feat  looked  like  play,  the  one  he  was  now  to 
attempt  had  a  good  deal  the  appearance  of  real  work. 
He  touched  the  mustang  with  the  spur,  and  in  a  few 
fierce  leaps  found  himself  nearly  abreast  of  the  fright 
ened  animal  he  was  chasing.  Once  more  he  whirled 
the  lasso  round  and  round  over  his  head,  and  then 
shot  it  forth,  as  the  rattlesnake  shoots  his  head  from 
the  loops  against  which  it  rests.  The  noose  was  round 
the  horse's  neck,  and  in  another  instant  was  tightened 
so  as  almost  to  stop  his  breath.  The  prairie  horse 
knew  the  trick  of  the  cord,  and  leaned  away  from  the 
captive,  so  as  to  keep  the  thong  tensely  stretched  be 
tween  his  neck  and  the  peak  of  the  saddle  to  which  it 
was  fastened.  Struggling  was  of  no  use  with  a  halter 
round  his  windpipe,  and  he  very  soon  began  to  trem 
ble  and  stagger,  —  blind,  no  doubt,  and  with  a  roar 
ing  in  his  ears  as  of  a  thousand  battle-trumpets,  —  at 
any  rate,  subdued  and  helpless.  That  was  enough. 
Dick  loosened  his  lasso,  wound  it  up  again,  laid  it 


334  ELSIE  VENNER. 

like  a  pet  snake  in  a  coil  at  his  saddle-bow,  turned  his 
horse,  and  rode  slowly  along  towards  the  mansion- 
house. 

The  place  had  never  looked  more  stately  and  beau 
tiful  to  him  than  as  he  now  saw  it  in  the  moonlight. 
The  undulations  of  the  land,  —  the  grand  mountain 
screen  which  sheltered  the  mansion  from  the  northern 
blasts,  rising  with  all  its  hanging  forests  and  para 
pets  of  naked  rock  high  towards  the  heavens,  —  the 
ancient  mansion,  with  its  square  chimneys,  and  body 
guard  of  old  trees,  and  cincture  of  low  walls  with  mar 
ble-pillared  gateways,  —  the  fields,  with  their  various 
coverings,  —  the  beds  of  flowers,  —  the  plots  of  turf, 
one  with  a  gray  column  in  its  centre  bearing  a  sun 
dial  on  which  the  rays  of  the  moon  were  idly  shining, 
another  with  a  white  stone  and  a  narrow  ridge  of  turf, 
—  over  all  these  objects,  harmonized  with  all  their 
infinite  details  into  one  fair  whole  by  the  moonlight, 
the  prospective  heir,  as  he  deemed  himself,  looked 
with  admiring  eyes. 

But  while  he  looked,  the  thought  rose  up  in  his 
mind  like  waters  from  a  poisoned  fountain,  that  there 
was  a  deep  plot  laid  to  cheat  him  of  the  inheritance 
which  by  a  double  claim  he  meant  to  call  his  own. 
Every  day  this  ice-cold  beauty,  this  dangerous,  hand 
some  cousin  of  his,  went  up  to  that  place,  —  that 
usher's  girl- trap.  Every  day,  — regularly  now,  — i 
used  to  be  different.  Did  she  go  only  to  get  out 
his,  her  cousin's,  reach?  Was  she  not  rather  beco 
ing  more  and  more  involved  in  the  toils  of  this  plo 
ting  Yankee  ? 

If  Mr.  Bernard  had  shown  himself  at  that  momen 
a  few  rods  in  advance,  the  chances  are  that  in  less 
than  one  minute  he  would  have  found  himself  with 


ELSIE  VENNER.  335 

noose  round  his  neck,  at  the  heels  of  a  mounted 
jrseman.  Providence  spared  him  for  the  present, 
"r.  Richard  rode  his  horse  quietly  round  to  the  stable, 
ut  him  up,  and  proceeded  towards  the  house.  He 
iot  to  his  bed  without  disturbing  the  family,  but  could 
ot  sleep.  The  idea  had  fully  taken  possession  of  his 
lind  that  a  deep  intrigue  was  going  on  which  would 
nd  by  bringing  Elsie  and  the  schoolmaster  into  re- 
itions  fatal  to  all  his  own  hopes.  With  that  inge- 
'.uity  which  always  accompanies  jealousy,  he  tortured 
[very  circumstance  of  the  last  few  weeks  so  as  to  make 
t  square  with  this  belief.  From  this  vein  of  thought 
le  naturally  passed  to  a  consideration  of  every  possi 
ble  method  by  which  the  issue  he  feared  might  be 
ivoided. 

Mr.  Richard  talked  very  plain  language  with  him 
self  in  all  these  inward  colloquies.  Supposing  it  came 
;o  the  worst,  what  could  be  done  then?  First,  an 
Occident  might  happen  to  the  schoolmaster  which 
should  put  a  complete  and  final  check  upon  his  pro 
jects  and  contrivances.  The  particular  accident  which 
might  interrupt  his  career  must,  evidently,  be  deter 
mined  by  circumstances ;  but  it  must  be  of  a  nature  to 
3xplain  itself  without  the  necessity  of  any  particular 
person's  becoming  involved  in  the  matter.  It  would 
be  unpleasant  to  go  into  particulars;  but  everybody 
knows  well  enough  that  men  sometimes  get  in  the  way 
of  a  stray  bullet,  and  that  young  persons  occasionally 
lo  violence  to  themselves  in  various  modes,  —  by  fire= 
arms,  suspension,  and  other  means,  —  in  consequence 
of  disappointment  in  love,  perhaps,  oftener  than  from 
other  motives.  There  was  still  another  kind  of  acci- 
ient  which  might  serve  his  purpose.  If  anything 
should  happen  to  Elsie,  it  would  be  the  most  natural 


836  ELSIE  VENNER. 

thing  in  the  world  that  his  uncle  should  adopt  him,  his 
nephew  and  only  near  relation,  as  his  heir.  Unless, 
indeed,  uncle  Dudley  should  take  it  into  his  head 
marry  again.  In  that  case,  where  would  he,  Dicl 
be?  This  was  the  most  detestable  complication  whic 
he  could  conceive  of.  And  yet  he  had  noticed  — 
could  not  help  noticing  —  that  his  uncle  had  be 
very  attentive  to,  and,  as  it  seemed,  very  much  pleased 
with,  that  young  woman  from  the  school.  What  did 
that  mean?  Was  it  possible  that  he  was  going  to 
take  a  fancy  to  her? 

It  made  him  wild  to  think  of  all  the  several  con 
tingencies  which  might  defraud  him  of  that  good-for 
tune  which  seemed  but  just  now  within  his  grasp. 
He  glared  in  the  darkness  at  imaginary  faces :  some 
times  at  that  of  the  handsome,  treacherous  school 
master;  sometimes  at  that  of  the  meek-looking,  but 
no  doubt,  scheming,  lady -teacher ;  sometimes  at  that 
of  the  dark  girl  whom  he  was  ready  to  make  his  wife; 
sometimes  at  that  of  his  much  respected  uncle,  who, 
of  course,  could  not  be  allowed  to  peril  the  fortunes  of 
his  relatives  by  forming  a  new  connection.  It  was 
a  frightful  perplexity  in  which  he  found  himself,  be 
cause  there  was  no  one  si  '.e  life  an  accident  to  which 
would  be  sufficient  to  insure  the  fitting  and  natural 
course  of  descent  to  the  great  Dudley  property.  If  it 
had  been  a  simple  question  of  helping  forward  a  casu 
alty  to  any  one  person,  there  was  nothing  in  Dick's 
habits  of  thought  and  living  to  make  that  a  serious 
difficulty.  He  had  been  so  much  with  lawless  people, 
that  a  life  between  his  wish  and  his  object  seemed 
only  as  an  obstacle  to  be  removed,  provided  the  object 
were  worth  the  risk  and  trouble.  But  if  there  were 
two  or  three  lives  in  the  way,  manifestly  that  altered 
the  case. 


ELSIE  VENNER.  337 

His  Southern  blood  was  getting  impatient.  There 
was  enough  of  the  New-Englander  about  him  to  make 
him  calculate  his  chances  before  he  struck;  but  his 
1  plans  were  liable  to  be  defeated  at  any  moment  by  a 
passionate  impulse  such  as  the  dark-hued  races  of 
Southern  Europe  and  their  descendants  are  liable  too 
He  lay  in  his  bed,  sometimes  arranging  plans  to  meet 
the  various  difficulties  already  mentioned,  sometimes 
getting  into  a  paroxysm  of  blind  rage  in  the  perplex 
ity  of  considering  what  object  he  should  select  as  the 
one  most  clearly  in  his  way.  On  the  whole,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  where  the  most  threatening  of  all 
his  embarrassments  lay.  It  was  in  the  probable  grow 
ing  relation  between  Elsie  and  the  schoolmaster.  If 
it  should  prove,  as  it  seemed  likely,  that  there  was 
springing  up  a  serious  attachment  tending  to  a  union 
between  them,  he  knew  what  he  should  do,  if  he  was 
not  quite  so  sure  how  he  should  do  it. 

There  was  one  thing  at  least  which  might  favor  his 
projects,  and  which,  at  any  rate,  would  serve  to  amuse 
him.  He  could,  by  a  little  quiet  observation,  find 
out  what  were  the  schoolmaster's  habits  of  life: 
whether  he  had  any  routi^f  which  could  be  calculated 
upon;  and  under  what  cf  L instances  a  strictly  private 
interview  of  a  few  minutes  rwith  him  might  be  reck 
oned  on,  in  case  it  should  be  desirable.  He  could 
also  very  probably  learn  some  facts  about  Elsie: 
whether  the  young  man  was  in  the  habit  of  attending 
her  on  her  way  home  from  school ;  whether  she  stayed 
about  the  schoolroom  after  the  other  girls  had  gone ; 
and  any  incidental  matters  of  interest  which  might 
present  themselves. 

He  was  getting  more  and  more  restless  for  want  of 
some  excitement.  A  mad  gallop,  a  visit  to  Mrs. 


338  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Blanche  Creamer,  who  had  taken  such  a  fancy  to 
him,  or  a  chat  with  the  Widow  Rowens,  who  was  very 
lively  in  her  talk,  for  all  her  sombre  colors,  and  re- 
minded  him  a  good  deal  of  some  of  his  earlier  friends, 
the  senoritas,  —  all  these  were  distractions,  to  be  sure, 
but  not  enough  to  keep  his  fiery  spirit  from  fretting 
itself  in  longings  for  more  dangerous  excitements. 
The  thought  of  getting  a  knowledge  of  all  Mr.  Bern 
ard's  ways,  so  that  he  would  be  in  his  power  at  any 
moment,  was  a  happy  one. 

For  some  days  after  this  he  followed  Elsie  at  a  long 
distance  behind,  to  watch  her  until  she  got  to  the 
schoolhouse.  One  day  he  saw  Mr.  Bernard  join 
her :  a  mere  accident,  very  probably,  for  it  was  only 
once  this  happened.  She  came  on  her  homeward 
way  alone,  —  quite  apart  from  the  groups  of  girls 
who  strolled  out  of  the  schoolhouse  yard  in  company. 
Sometimes  she  was  behind  them  all,  —  which  was  sug 
gestive.  Could  she  have  stayed  to  meet  the  school 
master? 

If  he  could  have  smuggled  himself  into  the  school, 
he  would  have  liked  to  watch  her  there,  and  see  if 
there  was  not  some  understanding  between  her  and 
the  master  which  betrayed  itself  by  look  or  word. 
But  this  was  beyond  the  limits  of  his  audacity,  and 
he  had  to  content  himself  with  such  cautious  observa 
tions  as  could  be  made  at  a  distance.  With  the  aid 
of  a  pocket-glass  he  could  make  out  persons  without 
the  risk  of  being  observed  himself. 

Mr.  Silas  Peckham's  corps  of  instructors  was  not 
expected  to  be  off  duty  or  to  stand  at  ease  for  any 
considerable  length  of  time.  Sometimes  Mr.  Ber 
nard,  who  had  more  freedom  than  the  rest,  would 
gj>  out  for  a  ramble  in  the  daytime,  but  more  fre- 


ELSIE  VENNER.  339 

quently  it  would  be  in  the  evening,  after  the  hour  of 
'"retiring,"  as  bedtime  was  elegantly  termed  by  the 
young  ladies  of  the  Apollinean  Institute.  He  would 
then  not  unfrequently  walk  out  alone  in  the  common 
roads,  or  climb  up  the  sides  of  The  Mountain,  which 
seemed  to  be  one  of  his  favorite  resorts.  Here,  of 
course,  it  was  impossible  to  follow  him  with  the  eye  at 
a  distance.  Dick  had  a  hideous,  gnawing  suspicion 
that  somewhere  in  these  deep  shades  the  schoolmaster 
might  meet  Elsie,  whose  evening  wanderings  he  knew 
so  well.  But  of  this  he  was  not  able  to  assure  him 
self.  Secrecy  was  necessary  to  his  present  plans,  and 
he  could  not  compromise  himself  by  over-eager  curios 
ity.  One  thing  he  learned  with  certainty.  The  mas 
ter  returned,  after  his  walk  one  evening,  and  entered 
the  building  where  his  room  was  situated.  Pres 
ently  a  light  betrayed  the  window  of  his  apartment. 
From  a  wooded  bank,  some  thirty  or  forty  rods  from 
this  building,  Dick  Venner  could  see  the  interior  of 
the  chamber,  and  watch  the  master  as  he  sat  at  his 
desk,  the  light  falling  strongly  upon  his  face,  intent 
upon  the  book  or  manuscript  before  him.  Dick  con 
templated  him  very  long  in  this  attitude.  The  sense 
of  watching  his  every  motion,  himself  meanwhile  ut 
terly  unseen,  was  delicious.  How  little  the  master 
was  thinking  what  eyes  were  on  him ! 

Well,  —  there  were  two  things  quite  certain.  One 
was,  that,  if  he  chose,  he  could  meet  the  schoolmaster 
alone,  either  in  the  road  or  in  a  more  solitary  place, 
if  he  preferred  to  watch  his  chance  for  an  evening  or 
two.  The  other  was,  that  he  commanded  his  posi 
tion,  as  he  sat  at  his  desk  in  the  evening,  in  such  a 
way  that  there  would  be  very  little  difficulty,  —  so  far 
as*  that  went;  of  course,  however,  silence  is  always 


340  ELSIE   VENNEK. 

preferable  to  noise,  and  there  is  a  great  difference  in 
the  marks  left  by  different  casualties.  Very  likely 
nothing  would  come  of  all  this  espionage ;  but,  at  any 
rate,  the  first  thing  to  be  done  with  a  man  you  want 
to  have  in  your  power  is  to  learn  his  habits. 

Since  the  tea-party  at  the  Widow  Rowens's,  Elsie 
had  been  more  fitful  and  moody  than  ever.  Dick  un 
derstood  all  this  well  enough,  you  know.  It  was  the 
working  of  her  jealousy  against  that  young  school 
girl  to  whom  the  master  had  devoted  himself  for  the 
sake  of  piquing  the  heiress  of  the  Dudley  mansion. 
Was  it  possible,  in  any  way,  to  exasperate  her  irrita 
ble  nature  against  him,  and  in  this  way  to  render  her 
more  accessible  to  his  own  advances?  It  was  difficult 
to  influence  her  at  all.  She  endured  his  company 
without  seeming  to  enjoy  it.  She  watched  him  with 
that  strange  look  of  hers,  sometimes  as  if  she  were  on 
her  guard  against  him,  sometimes  as  if  she  would  like 
to  strike  at  him  as  in  that  fit  of  childish  passion.  She 
ordered  him  about  with  a  haughty  indifference  which 
reminded  him  of  his  own  way  with  the  dark-eyed 
women  whom  he  had  known  so  well  of  old.  All  this 
added  a  secret  pleasure  to  the  other  motives  he  had  for 
worrying  her  with  jealous  suspicions.  He  knew  she 
brooded  silently  on  any  grief  that  poisoned  her  cpm- 
fort,  —  that  she  fed  on  it,  as  it  were,  until  it  ran  with 
every  drop  of  blood  in  her  veins,  —  and  that,  except 
in  some  paroxysm  of  rage,  of  which  he  himself  was 
not  likely  the  second  time  to  be  the  object,  or  in  some 
deadly  vengeance  wrought  secretly,  against  which  he 
would  keep  a  sharp  lookout,  so  far  as  he  was  con 
cerned,  she  had  no  outlet  for  her  dangerous,  smoul 
dering  passions. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  341 

Beware  of  the  woman  who  cannot  find  free  utter- 
ince  for  all  her  stormy  inner  life  either  in  words  or 
•song !  So  long  as  a  woman  can  talk,  there  is  nothing  ) 
she  cannot  bear.  If  she  cannot  have  a  companion  to 
listen  to  her  woes,  and  has  no  musical  utterance,  vocal 
or  instrumental,  —  then,  if  she  is  of  the  real  woman 
sort,  and  has  a  few  heartfuls  of  wild  blood  in  her,  and 
you  have  done  her  a  wrong,  —  double-bolt  the  door 
which  she  may  enter  on  noiseless  slipper  at  midnight, 
—  look-  hvice  before  you  taste  of  any  cup  whose 
drauglesJie  shadow  of  her  hand  may  have  darkened ! 

But  let  her  talk,  and,  above  all,  cry,  or,  if  she  is 
one  of  the  coarser-grained  tribe,  give  her  the  run  of 
all  the  red-hot  expletives  in  the  language,  and  let  her 
blister  her  lips  with  them  until  she  is  tired,  she  will 
sleep  like  a  lamb  after  it,  and  you  may  take  a  cup  of 
coffee  from  her  without  stirring  it  up  to  look  for  its 
sediment. 

So,  if  she  can  sing,  or  play  on  any  musical  instru 
ment,  all  her  wickedness  will  run  off  through  her 
throat  or  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  How  many  trage 
dies  find  their  peaceful  catastrophe  in  fierce  roulades 
and  strenuous  bravuras !  How  many  murders  are  ex 
ecuted  in  double-quick  time  upon  the  keys  which  stab 
the  air  with  their  dagger-strokes  of  sound!  What 
would  our  civilization  be  without  the  piano?  Are  not 
Erard  and  Broadwood  and  Chickering  the  true  hu- 
manizers  of  our  time?  Therefore  do  I  love  to  hear 
the  all-pervading  turn  turn  jarring  the  walls  of  little 
parlors  in  houses  with  double  door-plates  on  their  por 
tals,  looking  out  on  streets  and  courts  which  to  know 
is  to  be  unknown,  and  where  to  exist  is  not  to  live, 
according  to  any  true  definition  of  living.  Therefore 
complain  I  not  of  modern  degeneracy,  when,  even 


342  ELSIE   VETfNER. 

from  the  open  window  of  the  small  unlovely  farm 
house,  tenanted  by  the  hard-handed  man  of  bovine 
flavors  and  the  flat-patterned  woman  of  broken-down 
countenance,  issue  the  same  familiar  sounds.  FOP 
who  knows  that  Almira,  but  for  these  keys,  which 
throb  away  her  wild  impulses  in  harmless  discords, 
would  not  have  been  floating,  dead,  in  the  brown 
stream  which  slides  through  the  meadows  by  her  fa 
ther's  door,  —  or  living,  with  that  other  current  which 
runs  beneath  the  gas-lights  over  the  slimy  il 
choking  with  wretched  weeds  that  were  once 
less  flower? 

Poor  Elsie!  She  never  sang  nor  played.  She 
never  shaped  her  inner  life  in  words :  such  utterance 
was  as  much  denied  to  her  nature  as  common  artic 
ulate  speech  to  the  deaf  mute.  Her  only  language 
must  be  in  action.  Watch  her  well  by  day  and  by 
night,  old  Sophy!  watch  her  well!  or  the  long  line 
of  her  honored  name  may  close  in  shame,  and  the 
stately  mansion  of  the  Dudleys  remain  a  hissing  and 
a  reproach  till  its  roof  is  buried  in  its  cellar! 


CHAPTEK  XXIV. 

ON   HIS   TRACKS. 

"ABEL!  "  said  the  old  Doctor,  one  morning,  "after 
you  've  harnessed  Caustic,  come  into  the  study  a  few 
minutes,  will  you?" 

Abel  nodded.  He  was  a  man  of  few  words,  and 
he  knew  that  the  "will  you"  did  not  require  an  an 
swer,  being  the  true  New-England  way  of  rounding 
the  corners  of  an  employer's  order,  —  a  tribute  to  the 
personal  independence  of  an  American  citizen. 

The  hired  man  came  into  the  study  in  the  course  of 
a  few  minutes.  His  face  was  perfectly  still,  and  he 
waited  to  be  spoken  to ;  but  the  Doctor's  eye  detected 
a  certain  meaning  in  his  expression,  which  looked  as 
if  he  had  something  to  communicate. 

"Well?  "said  the  Doctor. 

"He  's  up  to  mischief  o'  some  kind,  I  guess,"  said 
AbeL  "  I  jest  happened  daown  by  the  mansion- 
haouse  last  night,  'n'  he  come  aout  o'  the  gate  on  that 
queer-lookin'  creatur'  o'  his.  I  watched  him,  'n'  he 
rid,  very  slow,  all  raoun'  by  the  Institoot,  'n'  acted 
as  ef  he  was  spyin'  abaout.  He  looks  to  me  like  a 
man  that 's  calc' latin'  to  do  some  kind  of  ill-turn  to 
somebody.  I  shouldn't  like  to  have  him  raoun'  me, 
'f  there  wa'n't  a  pitchfork  or  an  eel-spear  or  some 
sech  weep'n  within  reach.  He  may  be  all  right;  but 
I  don't  like  his  looks,  'n'  I  don't  see  what  he  's  lurkin' 
raoun'  the  Institoot  for,  after  folks  is  abed." 


344  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"Have  you  watched  him  pretty  close  for  the  last 
few  days?  "  said  the  Doctor. 

"  Wll,  yes,  — I  've  had  my  eye  on  him  consid'bl 
o'  the  time.     I  haf  to  be  pooty  shy  abaout  it,  or  he  '] 
find  aout  th't  I  'm  on  his  tracks.     I  don'  want  him 
to  get  a  spite  ag'inst  me,  '£  I  c'n  help  it;  he  looks  to 
me  like  one  o'  them  kind  that  kerries  what  they  call 
slung-shot,  'n'  hits  ye  on  the  side  o'  th'  head  with  'em 
so  suddin  y'  never  know  what  hurts  ye." 

"Why,"  said  the  Doctor,  sharply,  —  "have  you 
ever  seen  him  with  any  such  weapon  about  him?" 

"Wll,  no, — I  caan't  say  that  I  hev,"  Abel  an 
swered.  "On'y  he  looks  kin'  o'  dangerous.  Maybe 
he  's  all  jest  'z  he  ought  to  be,  —  I  caan't  say  that  he 
a'n't,  —  but  he  's  aout  late  nights,  'n'  lurkin'  raoun' 
jest  'z  ef  he  wus  spyin'  somebody,  'n'  somehaow  I 
caan't  help  mistrustin'  them  Portagee-lookin'  fellahs. 
I  caan't  keep  the  run  o'  this  chap  all  the  time ;  but 
I  've  a  notion  that  old  black  wqnian  daown  'tthe  man- 
sion-haouse  knows  'z  much  ab^utvhim  'z  anybody." 

The  Doctor  paused  a  moment,"  after  hearing  this 
report  from  his  private  detective,  and  then  got  into 
his  chaise,  and  turned  Caustic's  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  Dudley  mansion.  He  had  been  suspicious  of 
Dick  from  the  first.  He  did  not  like  his  mixed 
blood,  nor  his  looks,  nor  his  ways.  He  had  formed  a 
conjecture  about  his  projects  early.  He  had  made  a 
shrewd  guess  as  to  the  probable  jealousy  Dick  would 
feel  of  the  schoolmaster,  had  found  out  something  of 
his  movements,  and  had  cautioned  Mr.  Bernard,  —  as 
we  have  seen.  He  felt  an  interest  in  the  young  man, 
—  a  student  of  his  own  profession,  an  intelligent  and 
ingenuously  unsuspecting  young  fellow,  who  had  been 
thrown  by  accident  into  the  companionship  or  the 


ELSIE   VENNER.  345 

neighborhood  of  two  persons,  one  of  whom  he  knew 
to  be  dangerous,  and  the  other  he  believed  instinc 
tively  might  be  capable  of  crime. 

The  Doctor  rode  down  to  the  Dudley  mansion 
solely  for  the  sake  of  seeing  old  Sophy.  He  was 
lucky  enough  to  find  her  alone  in  her  kitchen.  He 
began  talking  with  her  as  a  physician ;  he  wanted  to 
know  how  her  rheumatism  had  been.  The  shrewd  old 
woman  saw  through  all  that  with  her  little  beady  black 
eyes.  It  was  something  quite  different  he  had  come 
for,  and  old  Sophy  answered  very  briefly  for  her  aches 
and  ails. 

"Old  folks'  bones  a'n't  like  young  folks',"  she 
said.  "It  "s  the  Lord's  doin's,  'n'  't  a'n't  much  mat 
ter.  I  sha'n'  be  long  roun'  this  kitchen.  It 's  the 
young  Missis,  Doctor, — it's  our  Elsie, — it's  the 
baby,  as  we  use'  t'  call  her,  —  don'  you  remember, 
Doctor?  Seventeen  year  ago,  'n'  her  poor  mother 
cryin'  for  her,  — 'Where  is  she?  where  is  she?  Let 
me  see  her !  '  —  'n'  how  I  run  up-stairs,  —  I  could  run 
then,  —  'n'  got  the  coral  necklace  'n'  put  it  round  her 
little  neck,  'n'  then  showed  her  to  her  mother,  —  'n' 
how  her  mother  looked  at  her,  'n'  looked,  'n'  then 
put  out  her  poor  thin  fingers  'n'  lifted  the  necklace, 
—  'n'  fell  right  back  on  her  piller,  as  white  as  though 
she  was  laid  out  to  bury?  " 

The  Doctor  answered  her  by  silence  and  a  look  of 
grave  assent.  He  had  never  chosen  to  let  old  Sophy 
dwell  upon  these  matters,  for  obvious  reasons.  The 
girl  must  not  grow  up  haunted  by  perpetual  fears  and 
prophecies,  if  it  were  possible  to  prevent  it. 

"Well,  how  has  Elsie  seemed  of  late?  "he  said, 
after  this  brief  pause. 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head.     Then  she  looked 


346  ELSIE  VENNER. 

up  at  the  Doctor  so  steadily  and  searchingly  that 
the  diamond  eyes  of  Elsie  herself  could  hardly  have 
pierced  more  deeply. 

The  Doctor  raised  his  head,  by  his  habitual  move 
ment,  and  met  the  old  woman's  look  with  his  own  calm 
and  scrutinizing  gaze,  sharpened  by  the  glasses 
through  which  he  now  saw  her. 

Sophy  spoke  presently  in  an  awed  tone,  as  if  telling 
a  vision. 

"We  shall  be  havin'  trouble  before  long.  The'  's 
somethin'  comin'  from  the  Lord.  I  've  had  dreams, 
Doctor.  It 's  many  a  year  I  've  been  a-dreamin',  but 
now  they  're  comin'  over  'n'  over  the  same  thing. 
Three  times  I ' ve  dreamed  one  thing,  Doctor,  —  one 
thing!" 

"And  what  was  that?  "  the  Doctor  said,  with  that 
shade  of  curiosity  in  his  tone  which  a  metaphysician 
would  probably  say  is  an  index  of  a  certain  tendency 
to  belief  in  the  superstition  to  which  the  question  re 
fers. 

"I  ca'n'  jestly  tell  y'  what  it  was,  Doctor,"  the  old 
woman  answered,  as  if  bewildered  and  trying  to  clear 
up  her  recollections;  "but  it  was  somethin'  fearful, 
with  a  great  noise  'n'  a  great  cryin'  o'  people,  — like 
the  Las'  Day,  Doctor !  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  my 
poor  chil',  'n'  take  care  of  her,  if  anything  happens! 
But  I 's  feared  she  '11  never  live  to  see  the  Las'  Day, 
'f  't  don'  come  pooty  quick." 

Poor  Sophy,  only  the  third  generation  from  canni 
balism,  was,  not  unnaturally,  somewhat  confused  in 
her  theological  notions.  Some  of  the  Second- Advent 
preachers  had  been  about,  and  circulated  their  predic 
tions  among  the  kitchen  -  population  of  Rockland. 
This  was  the  way  in  which  it  happened  that  she  min- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  347 

gled  her  fears  in  such  a  strange  manner  with  their 
doctrines. 

The  Doctor  answered  solemnly,  that  of  the  day  and 
hour  we  knew  not,  but  it  became  us  to  be  always  ready. 
- —  "  Is  there  anything  going  on  in  the  household  differ 
ent  from  common?  " 

Old  Sophy's  wrinkled  face  looked  as  full  of  life  and 
intelligence,  when  she  turned  it  full  upon  the  Doctor, 
as  if  she  had  slipped  off  her  infirmities  and  years  like 
an  outer  garment.  All  those  fine  instincts  of  obser 
vation  which  came  straight  to  her  from  her  savage 
grandfather  looked  out  of  her  little  eyes.  She  had  a 
kind  of  faith  that  the  Doctor  was  a  mighty  conjurer, 
who,  if  he  would,  could  bewitch  any  of  them.  She 
had  relieved  her  feelings  by  her  long  talk  with  the 
minister,  but  the  Doctor  was  the  immediate  adviser  of 
the  family,  and  had  watched  them  through  all  their 
troubles.  Perhaps  he  could  tell  them  what  to  do. 
She  had  but  one  real  object  of  affection  in  the  world, 
—  this  child  that  she  had  tended  from  infancy  to  wo 
manhood.  Troubles  were  gathering  thick  round  her ; 
how  soon  they  would  break  upon  her,  and  blight  or 
destroy  her,  no  one  could  tell;  but  there  was  nothing 
in  all  the  catalogue  of  terrors  which  might  not  come 
upon  the  household  at  any  moment.  Her  own  wits 
had  sharpened  themselves  in  keeping  watch  by  day 
and  night,  and  her  face  had  forgotten  its  age  in  the 
excitement  which  gave  life  to  its  features. 

"Doctor,"  old  Sophy  said,  "there  's  strange  things 
goin'  on  here  by  night  and  by  day.  I  don'  like  that 
man,  — that  Dick,  — I  never  liked  him.  He  giv'  me 
some  o'  these  things  I  '  got  on;  I  take  'em  'cos  1 
know  it  make  him  mad,  if  I  no  take  'em ;  I  wear  'em, 
so  that  he  need  n'  feel  as  if  I  did  n'  like  him ;  but, 


348  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Doctor,    I  hate  him,  — jes'  as  much  as  a  membei 
the  church  has  the  Lord's  leave  to  hate  anybody." 

Her  eyes  sparkled  with  the  old  savage  light,  as  if 
her  ill-will  to  Mr.  Richard  Venner  might  perhaps  go  a 
little  farther  than  the  Christian  limit  she  had  assigned. 
But  remember  that  her  grandfather  was  in  the  habit 
of  inviting  his  friends  to  dine  with  him  upon  the  last 
enemy  he  had  bagged,  and  that  her  grandmother's  teeth 
were  filed  down  to  points,  so  that  they  were  as  sharp 
as  a  shark's. 

"  What  is  that  you  have  seen  about  Mr.  Richard 
Venner  that  gives  you  such  a  spite  against  him, 
Sophy?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"What  I  '  seen  'bout  Dick  Venner?"  she  replied, 
fiercely.  "I'll  tell  y' what  I '  seen.  Dick  wan' s  to 
marry  our  Elsie,  — that  's  what  he  wan's;  'n'  he  don' 
love  her,  Doctor,  —  he  hates  her,  Doctor,  as  bad  as  I 
hate  him!  He  wan's  to  marry  our  Elsie,  'n'  live 
here  in  the  big  house,  'n'  have  nothin'  to  do  but  jes' 
lay  still  'n'  watch  Massa  Venner  'n'  see  how  long  't 
'11  take  him  to  die,  'n'  'f  he  don'  die  fas'  'nuff,  help 
him  some  way  t'  die  fasser !  —  Come  close  up  t'  me, 
Doctor !  I  wan'  t'  tell  you  somethin'  I  tol'  th'  min 
ister  t'  other  day.  Th'  minister,  he  come  down  'n' 
prayed  'n'  talked  good,  — he  's  a  good  man,  that  Doc 
tor  Honeywood,  'n'  I  tol'  him  all  'bout  our  Elsie,  — 
but  he  did  n'  tell  nobody  what  to  do  to  stop  all  what 
I  '  been  dreamin'  about  happenin'.  Come  close  up  to 
me,  Doctor ! " 

The  Doctor  drew  his  chair  close  up  to  that  of  the 
old  woman. 

"Doctor,  nobody  mus  'n'  never  marry  our  Elsie  's 
long's  she  lives!  Nobody  mus'  n'  never  live  with 
Elsie  but  ol'  Sophy;  'n'  oP  Sophy  won't  never  die 


ELSIE  VENNER.  349 

's  long  's  Elsie  's  alive  to  be  took  care  of.  But  I 's 
feared,  Doctor,  I 's  greatly  feared  Elsie  wan'  to 
marry  somebody.  The'  's  a  young  gen Tm'n  up  at 
that  school  where  she  go,  —  so  some  of  'em  tells  me,,  — 
'n'  she  loves  t'  see  him  'n'  talk  wi'  him,  'n'  she  talks 
about  him  when  she  's  asleep  sometimes.  She  mus  'n' 
never  marry  nobody,  Doctor !  If  she  do,  he  die,  cer 
tain!" 

"  If  she  has  a  fancy  for  the  young  man  up  at  the 
school  there,"  the  Doctor  said,  "I  shouldn't  think 
there  would  be  much  danger  from  Dick." 

"Doctor,  nobody  know  nothin'  'bout  Elsie  but  ol' 
Sophy.  She  no  like  any  other  creatur'  th't  ever 
drawed  the  bref  o'  life.  If  she  ca'n'  marry  one  man 
'cos  she  love  him,  she  marry  another  man  'cos  she 
hate  him." 

"Marry  a  man  because  she  hates  him,  Sophy? 
No  woman  ever  did  such  a  thing  as  that,  or  ever  will 
do  it." 

"Who  tol'  you  Elsie  was  a  woman,  Doctor?"  said 
old  Sophy,  with  a  flash  of  strange  intelligence  in  her 
eyes. 

The  Doctor's  face  showed  that  he  was  startled. 
The  old  woman  could  not  know  much  about  Elsie  that 
he  did  not  know;  but  what  strange  superstition  had 
got  into  her  head,  he  was  puzzled  to  guess.  He  had 
better  follow  Sophy's  lead  and  find  out  what  she 
meant. 

"  I  should  call  Elsie  a  woman,  and  a  very  handsome 
one,"  he  said.  "You  don't  mean  that  she  has  any 
mark  about  her,  except  —  you  know  —  under  the  neck 
lace?  " 

The  old  woman  resented  the  thought  of  any  deform 
ity  about  her  darling. 


350  ELSIE  VENNEB. 

"I  did  n'  say  she  had  nothin'  —  but  jes'  that  —  you 
know.  My  beauty  have  anything  ugly ?  She's  the 
beautifullest-shaped  lady  that  ever  had  a  shinin'  silk 
gown  drawed  over  her  shoulders.  On'y  she  a'n't  like 
no  other  woman  in  none  of  her  ways.  She  don't  cry 
'n'  laugh  like  other  women.  An'  she  ha'n'  got  the 
same  kind  o'  feelin'sas  other  women.  — Do  you  know 
that  young  gen'l'm'n  up  at  the  school,  Doctor?  " 

"Yes,  Sophy,  I  've  met  him  sometimes.  He  's  a 
very  nice  sort  of  young  man,  handsome,  too,  and  I 
don't  much  wonder  Elsie  takes  to  him.  Tell  me, 
Sophy,  what  do  you  think  would  happen,  if  he  should 
chance  to  fall  in  love  with  Elsie,  and  she  with  him, 
and  he  should  marry  her?" 

"Put  your  ear  close  to  my  lips,  Doctor,  dear!" 
She  whispered  a  little  to  the  Doctor,  then  added 
aloud,  "He  die,  —that 's  all." 

"But  surely,  Sophy,  you  a'n't  afraid  to  have  Dick 
marry  her,  if  she  would  have  him  for  any  reason,  are 
you?  He  can  take  care  of  himself,  if  anybody  can." 

"Doctor!  "  Sophy  answered,  "nobody  can  take  care 
of  hisself  that  live  wi'  Elsie !  Nobody  never  in  all 
this  worl'  mus'  live  wi'  Elsie  but  ol'  Sophy,  I  tell 
you.  You  don'  think  I  care  for  Dick?  What  do  I 
care,  if  Dick  Venner  die?  He  wan's  to  marry  our 
Elsie  so ' s  to  live  in  the  big  house  'n'  get  all  the 
money  'n'  all  the  silver  things  'n'  all  the  chists  full 
o'  linen  'n'  beautiful  clothes.  That 's  what  Dick 
wan's.  An'  he  hates  Elsie  'cos  she  don'  like  him. 
But  if  he  marry  Elsie,  she  '11  make  him  die  some 
wrong  way  or  other,  'n'  they  '11  take  her  'n'  hang 
her,  or  he  '11  get  mad  with  her  'n'  choke  her.  —  Oh, 
I  know  his  chokin'  tricks !  —  he  don'  leave  his  keys 
roun'  for  nothin' ! 


ELSIE   VENNER.  351 

"What 's  that  you  say,  Sophy?  Tell  me  what  you 
nean  by  all  that." 

So  poor  Sophy  had  to  explain  certain  facts  not  in 
ill  respects  to  her  credit.  She  had  taken  the  oppor- 
miity  of  his  absence  to  look  about  his  chamber,  and, 
having  found  a  key  in  one  of  his  drawers,  had  applied 
it  to  a  trunk,  and,  finding  that  it  opened  the  trunk, 
had  made  a  kind  of  inspection  for  contraband  articles, 
and,  seeing  the  end  of  a  leather  thong,  had  followed 
it  up  until  she  saw  that  it  finished  with  a  noose,  which, 
from  certain  appearances,  she  inferred  to  have  seen 
service  of  at  least  doubtful  nature.  An  unauthor 
ized  search;  but  old  Sophy  considered  that  a  game 
of  life  and  death  was  going  on  in  the  household,  and 
that  she  was  bound  to  look  out  for  her  darling. 

The  Doctor  paused  a  moment  to  think  over  this  odd 
piece  of  information.  Without  sharing  Sophy's  be 
lief  as  to  the  kind  of  use  this  mischievous-looking 
piece  of  property  had  been  put  to,  it  was  certainly 
very  odd  that  Dick  should  have  such  a  thing  at  the 
bottom  of  his  trunk.  The  Doctor  remembered  read 
ing  or  hearing  something  about  the  lasso  and  the 
lariat  and  the  bolas,  and  had  an  indistinct  idea  that 
they  had  been  sometimes  used  as  weapons  of  warfare 
or  private  revenge ;  but  they  were  essentially  a  hunts 
man's  implements,  after  all,  and  it  was  not  very 
strange  that  this  young  man  had  brought  one  of  them 
with  him.  Not  strange,  perhaps,  but  worth  noting. 

"Do  you  really  think  Dick  means  mischief  to  any 
body,  that  he  has  such  dangerous -looking  things?" 
the  Doctor  said,  presently. 

"I  tell  you,  Doctor.  Dick  means  to  have  Elsie. 
If  he  ca'n'  get  her,  he  never  let  nobody  else  have 
her!  Oh,  Dick  's  a  dark  man,  Doctor!  I  know 


352  ELSIE    VENNER. 

him!     I  'member  him  when  he  was  little  boy, — he 
always  cunnin'.     I  think  he  mean  mischief  to  some 
body.     He  come  home  late  nights,  —  come  in  softly, 

—  oh,  I  hear  him!     I  lay  awake,  'n'  got  sharp  ears, 

—  I  hear  the  cats  walkiii'  over  the  roofs,  —  'n'  I  hear 
Dick  Venner,  when  he  comes  up  in  his  stockin'-feet 
as  still  as  a  cat.     I  think  he  mean  mischief  to  some 
body.     I  no  like  his  looks  these  las'  days.  —  Is  that 
a  very  pooty  gen'l'm'n  up  at  the  schoolhouse,  Doc 
tor?" 

"  I  told  you  he  was  good-looking.     What  if  he  is  ?  " 

"I  should  like  to  see  him,  Doctor,  — I  should  like 
to  see  the  pooty  gen'l'm'n  that  my  poor  Elsie  loves. 
She  mus  'n'  never  marry  nobody,  — but,  oh,  Doctor, 
I  should  like  to  see  him,  'n'  jes'  think  a  little  how  it 
would  ha'  been,  if  the  Lord  hadn'  been  so  hard  on 
Elsie." 

She  wept  and  wrung  her  hands.  The  kind  Doctor 
was  touched,  and  left  her  a  moment  to  her  thoughts. 

"And  how  does  Mr.  Dudley  Venner  take  all  this?  " 
he  said,  by  way  of  changing  the  subject  a  little. 

"Oh,  Massa  Venner,  he  good  man,  but  he  don' 
know  nothin'  'bout  Elsie,  as  ol'  Sophy  do.  I  keep 
close  by  her;  I  help  her  when  she  go  to  bed,  'n'  set 
by  her  sometime  when  she  sleep ;  I  come  to  her  in  th' 
mornin'  'n'  help  her  put  on  her  things."  —  Then,  in 
a  whisper,  —  "  Doctor,  Elsie  lets  ol'  Sophy  take  off 
that  necklace  for  her.  What  you  think  she  do,  'f  any 
body  else  tech  it? " 

"I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure,  Sophy,  — strike  the  per 
son,  perhaps." 

"Oh,  yes,  strike  'em!  but  not  with  her  han's,  Doc 
tor!  "  -The  old  woman's  significant  pantomime  must 
be  guessed  at. 


ELSIE  VENNER.  353 

'But  you  haven't  told  me,  Sophy,  what  Mr.  Dud- 
3y  Vernier  thinks  of  his  nephew,  nor  whether  he  has 
ny  notion  that  Dick  wants  to  marry  Elsie." 

"  I  tell  you.     Massa  Yenner,  he  good  man,  but  he 
o  see  nothin'  'bout  what  goes  on  here  in  the  house,, 
le  sort  o'  broken-hearted,  you  know,  —  sort  o'  giv* 
p, — don'   know  what  to  do  wi'  Elsie,    'xcep'  say 
Yes,  yes. '     Dick  always  look  smilin'  'n'  behave  well 
Defore    him.      One    time    I   thought   Massa  Vernier 
b'lieve  Dick  was  goin'  to  take  to  Elsie ;  but  now  he 
Ion'  seem  to  take  much  notice, — he  kin'  o'  stupid- 
like   'bout  sech   things.     It's  trouble,  Doctor;    'cos 
Massa  Venner  bright  man  naterally,  —  'n'  he  's  got 
a  great  heap  o'  books.     I  don'  think  Massa  Venner 
never  been  jes'  heself  sence  Elsie  's  born.     He  done 
all  he  know  how, — but,  Doctor,  that  wa'n'  a  great 
deal.     You  men-folks  don'  know  nothin'  'bout  these 
young  gals;    'n'    'f  you  knowed  all   the  young  gals 
that    ever    lived,   y'    would  n'   know    nothin'     'bout 
our  Elsie." 

"No, — but,  Sophy,  what  I  want  to  know  is, 
whether  you  think  Mr.  Venner  has  any  kind  of  sus 
picion  about  his  nephew,  —  whether  he  has  any  notion 
that  he  's  a  dangerous  sort  of  fellow,  —  or  whether  he 
feels  safe  to  have  him  about,  or  has  even  taken  a  sort 
of  fancy  to  him." 

"Lor'  bless  you,  Doctor,  Massa  Venner  no  more 
idee  'f  any  mischief  'bout  Dick  than  he  has  'bout  you 
or  me.  Y'  see,  he  very  fond  o'  the  Cap'n,  —  that 
Dick's  father,  —  'n'  he  live  so  long  alone  here,  'long 
wi'  us,  that  he  kin'  o'  like  to  see  mos'  anybody  't  's 
got  any  o'  th'  ol'  family -blood  in  'em.  He  ha'n't  got 
no  more  suspicions  'n  a  baby,  —  y '  never  see  sech  a 
man  'n  y'r  life.  I  kin'  o'  think  he  don'  care  for  no- 


354  ELSIE   VENNEE. 

thin'  in  this  world  'xcep'  jes'  t'  do  what  Elsie  wan's 
him  to.  The  fus'  year  after  young  Madam  die  he 
do  nothin'  but  jes'  set  at  the  window  'n'  look  out  at 
her  grave,  'n'  then  come  up  'n'  look  at  the  baby's 
neck  'n'  say,  '/£'s  fadiri*,  Sophy,  a? n't  it?'  'n' 
then  go  down  in  the  study  'n'  walk  'n'  walk,  'n'  then 
kneel  down  'n'  pray.  Doctor,  there  was  two  places 
in  the  old  carpet  that  was  all  threadbare,  where  his 
knees  had  worn  'em-  An'  sometimes,  —  you  remem 
ber  'bout  all  that,  — he  'd  go  off  up  into  The  Moun 
tain,  'n'  be  gone  all  day,  'n'  kill  all  the  Ugly  Things 
he  could  find  up  there.  —  Oh,  Doctor,  I  don'  like  to 
think  o'  them  days!  —  An'  by  'n'  by  he  grew  kin'  o* 
still,  'n'  begun  to  read  a  little,  'n'  't  las'  he  got  's 
quiet 's  a  lamb,  'n'  that 's  the  way  he  is  now.  I 
think  he's  got  religion,  Doctor;  but  he  a'n't  so 
bright  about  what 's  goin'  on,  'n'  I  don'  believe  he 
never  suspec'  nothin'  till  somethin'  happens;  — for 
the'  's  somethin'  goin'  to  happen,  Doctor,  if  the  Las' 
Day  does  n'  come  to  stop  it;  'n'  you  mus'  tell  us 
what  to  do,  'n'  save  my  poor  Elsie,  my  baby  that  the 
Lord  has  n'  took  care  of  like  all  his  other  childer." 

The  Doctor  assured  the  old  woman  that  he  was 
thinking  a  great  deal  about  them  all,  and  that  there 
were  other  eyes  on  Dick  besides  her  own.  Let  her 
watch  him  closely  about  the  house,  and  he  would  keep 
a  look-out  elsewhere.  If  there  was  anything  new,  she 
must  let  him  know  at  once.  Send  up  one  of  the  men- 
servants,  and  he  would  come  down  at  a  moment's 
warning. 

There  was  really  nothing  definite  against  this  young 
man ;  but  the  Doctor  was  sure  that  he  was  meditating 
some  evil  design  or  other.  He  rode  straight  up  to  the 
Institute.  There  he  saw  Mr.  Bernard,  and  had  a  brief 


ELSIE   VENNER.  355 

conversation  with  him,  principally  on  matters  relating 
to  his  personal  interests. 

That  evening,  for  some  unknown  reason,  Mr.  Ber 
nard  changed  the  place  of  his  desk  and  drew  down  the 
shades  of  his  windows.  Late  that  night  Mr.  Richard 
Venner  drew  the  charge  of  a  rifle,  and  put  the  gun 
back  among  the  fowling-pieces,  swearing  that  a  leather 
halter  was  worth  a  dozen  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  PERILOUS   HOUR. 

UP  to  this  time  Dick  Venner  had  not  decided  on 
the  particular  mode  and  the  precise  period  of  reliev 
ing  himself  from  the  unwarrantable  interf erence  which 
threatened  to  defeat  his  plans.  The  luxury  of  feel 
ing  that  he  had  his  man  in  his  power  was  its  own  re 
ward.  One  who  watches  in  the  dark,  outside,  while 
his  enemy,  in  utter  unconsciousness,  is  illuminating 
his  apartment  and  himself  so  that  every  movement  of 
his  head  and  every  button  on  his  coat  can  be  seen  and 
counted,  experiences  a  peculiar  kind  of  pleasure,  if  he 
holds  a  loaded  rifle  in  his  hand,  which  he  naturally 
hates  to  bring  to  its  climax  by  testing  his  skill  as  a 
marksman  upon  the  object  of  his  attention. 

Besides,  Dick  had  two  sides  in  his  nature,  almost 
as  distinct  as  we  sometimes  observe  in  those  persons 
who  are  the  subjects  of  the  condition  known  as  double 
consciousness.  On  his  New -England  side  he  was 
cunning  and  calculating,  always  cautious,  measuring 
his  distance  before  he  risked  his  stroke,  as  nicely  as 
if  he  were  throwing  his  lasso.  But  he  was  liable  to 
intercurrent  fits  of  jealousy  and  rage,  such  as  the 
light-hued  races  are  hardly  capable  of  conceiving,  — 
blinding  paroxysms  of  passion,  which  for  the  time 
overmastered  him,  and  which,  if  they  found  no  ready 
outlet,  transformed  themselves  into  the  more  danger 
ous  forces  that  worked  through  the  instrumentality 
of  his  cool  craftiness. 


ELSIE   VENKER.  357 

He  had  failed  as  yet  in  getting  any  positive  evi 
dence  that  there  was  any  relation  between  Elsie  and 
the  schoolmaster  other  than  such  as  might  exist  un 
suspected  and  unblamed  between  a  teacher  and  his 
pupil.  A  book,  or  a  note,  even,  did  not  prove  the 
existence  of  any  sentiment.  At  one  time  he  would  be 
devoured  by  suspicions,  at  another  he  would  try  to 
laugh  himself  out  of  them.  And  in  the  mean  while 
he  followed  Elsie's  tastes  as  closely  as  he  could,  deter 
mined  to  make  some  impression  upon  her,  —  to  be 
come  a  habit,  a  convenience,  a  necessity,  —  whatever 
might  aid  him  in  the  attainment  of  the  one  end  which 
was  now  the  ami  of  his  life. 

It  was  to  humor  one  of  her  tastes  already  known  to 
the  reader,  that  he  said  to  her  one  morning,  —  "  Come, 
Elsie,  take  your  castanets,  and  let  us  have  a  dance." 

He  had  struck  the  right  vein  in  the  girl's  f;  3y,  for 
she  was  in  the  mood  for  this  i  rcise,  and  v*  y  will 
ingly  led  the  way  into  one  of  more  empt  apart 
ments.  What  there  was  in  is  particidar  iind  of 
dance  which  excited  her  it  mi  not  be  «-::  rj  guess; 
but  those  who  looked  in  wi  <•  old  Doctor,  on  a 
former  occasion,  and  saw  he1  ill  remeii;  •  that  she 
was  strangely  carried  away  -  it,  and  V  u  ie  almost 
fearful  in  the  vehemence  of  -on.  Che  sound 

of  the  castanets  seemed  tc  all  over. 

Dick  knew  well  enough  wl1  would  be, 

and  was  almost  afraid  of  r  at  th<  ments ;  for 

it  was  like  the  dancing  -  East-  n  devotees, 

more  than  the  ordinary  t  of  joyous 

youth,  —  a  convulsion  c  the  mind, 

rather  than  a  series  of  vc  id  motions. 

Elsie  rattled  out  the  t  -sure  of  a  saraband. 

Her  eyes  began  to  glit  brilliantly,  and  her 


358  ELSIE   VENNEK. 

shape  to  undulate  in  freer  curves.  Presently  she 
noticed  that  Dick's  look  was  fixed  upon  her  necklace. 
His  face  betrayed  his  curiosity ;  he  was  intent  on  solv 
ing  the  question,  why  she  always  wore  something  about 
her  neck.  The  chain  of  mosaics  she  had  on  at  that 
moment  displaced  itself  at  every  step,  and  he  was 
peering  with  malignant,  searching  eagerness  to  see  if 
an  unsunned  ring  of  fairer  hue  than  the  rest  of  the 
surface,  or  any  less  easily  explained  peculiarity,  were 
hidden  by  her  ornaments. 

She  stopped  suddenly,  caught  the  chain  of  mosaics 
and  settled  it  hastily  in  its  place,  flung  down  her  cas 
tanets,  drew  herself  back,  and  stood  looking  at  him, 
with  her  head  a  little  on  one  side,  and  her  eyes  nar 
rowing  in  the  way  he  had  known  so  long  and  well. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Cousin  Elsie?  What  do 
you  stop  for?"  he  said. 

Elsio  did  not  answer,  but  kept  her  eyes  on  him, 
full  of  malicious  1  ght.  The  jealousy  which  lay  cov 
ered  up  under  hi*  urface-thoughts  took  this  opportu 
nity  ^o  break  out. 

"You  wouldn't  act  so,  if  you  were  dancing  with 
Mr.  Langdon,  — woidd  you,  Elsie?  "  he  asked. 

It  was  with  some  effort  that  he  looked  steadily  at 
her  tc  see  the  effe*  his  question. 

Elsie  colored,  —  much,  but  still  perceptibly. 

Dick  ooild  not  remc  >er  that  he  had  ever  seen  her 
show  this  mark  <  ion  before,  in  all  his  experi 

ence  of  Jier  fitful  eh&B;  of  mood.  It  had  a  singular 
depth  oi  signifies]  \erefore,  for  him;  he  knew 

how  hardly  her  color  e.i  .  Blushing  means  nothing, 
in  some  persons;  in  otl  ,  it  betrays  a  profound  in 
ward  agiti  i, — a  p<  bation  of  the  feelings  far 
more  trying  Uan  ti  e  pa.-  is  which  with  many  easily 


ELSIE   VENNER.  359 

moved  persons  break  forth  in  tears.  All  who  have 
observed  much  are  aware  that  some  men,  who  have 
seen  a  good  deal  of  life  in  its  less  chastened  aspects 
and  are  anything  but  modest,  will  blush  often  and 
easily,  while  there  are  delicate  and  sensitive  women 
who  can  faint,  or  go  into  fits,  if  necessary,  but  are 
very  rarely  seen  to  betray  their  feelings  in  their 
cheeks,  even  when  their  expression  shows  that  their 
inmost  soul  is  blushing  scarlet. 

Presently  she  answered,  abruptly  and  scornfully,  — 

"Mr.  Langdon  is  a  gentleman,  and  would  not  vex 
me  as  you  do." 

"A  gentleman!"  Dick  answered,  with  the  most 
insulting  accent,  —  "a  gentleman  !  Come,  Elsie, 
you  've  got  the  Dudley  blood  in  your  veins,  and  it 
does  n't  do  for  you  to  call  this  poor,  sneaking  school' 
master  a  gentleman !  " 

He  stopped  short.  Elsie's  bosom  was  heaving,  the 
faint  flush  on  her  cheek  was  becoming  a  vivid  glow. 
Whether  it  were  shame  or  wrath,  he  saw  that  he  had 
reached  some  deep-lying  centre  of  emotion.  There 
was  no  longer  any  doubt  in  his  mind.  With  another 
girl  these  signs  of  confusion  might  mean  little  or  no 
thing  ;  with  her  they  were  decisive  and  final.  Elsie 
Venner  loved  Bernard  Langdon. 

The  sudden  conviction,  absolute,  overwhelming, 
which  rushed  upon  him,  had  well-nigh  led  to  an 
explosion  of  wrath,  and  perhaps  some  terrible  scene 
which  might  have  fulfilled  some  of  old  Sophy's  pre 
dictions.  This,  however,  would  never  do.  Dick's 
face  whitened  with  his  thoughts,  but  he  kept  still 
until  he  could  speak  calmly. 

"I  've  nothing  against  the  young  fellow,"  he  said: 
"only  I  don't  think  there 's  anything  quite  good 


360  ELSIE   VENNER. 

enough  to  keep  the  company  of  people  that  have  the 
Dudley  blood  in  them.  You  a'n't  as  proud  as  I  am. 
I  can't  quite  make  up  my  mind  to  call  a  schoolmas 
ter  a  gentleman,  though  this  one  may  be  well  enough, 
I  've  nothing  against  him,  at  any  rate." 

Elsie  made  no  answer,  but  glided  out  of  the  room 
and  slid  away  to  her  own  apartment.  She  bolted  the 
door  and  drew  her  curtains  close.  Then  she  threw 
herself  on  the  floor,  and  fell  into  a  dull,  slow  ache  of 
passion,  without  tears,  without  words,  almost  without 
thoughts.  So  she  remained,  perhaps,  for  a  half -hour, 
at  the  end  of  which  time  it  seemed  that  her  passion 
had  become  a  sullen  purpose.  She  arose,  and,  look 
ing  cautiously  round,  went  to  the  hearth,  which  was 
ornamented  with  curious  old  Dutch  tiles,  with  pic 
tures  of  Scripture  subjects.  One  of  these  repre 
sented  the  lifting  of  the  brazen  serpent.  She  took  a 
hair-pin  from  one  of  her  braids,  and,  insinuating  its 
points  under  the  edge  of  the  tile,  raised  it  from  its 
place.  A  small  leaden  box  lay  under  the  tile,  which 
she  opened,  and,  taking  from  it  a  little  white  powder, 
which  she  folded  in  a  scrap  of  paper,  replaced  the  box 
and  the  tile  over  it. 

Whether  Dick  had  by  any  means  got  a  knowledge 
of  this  proceeding,  or  whether  he  only  suspected 
some  unmentionable  design  on  her  part,  there  is  no 
sufficient  means  of  determining.  At  any  rate,  when 
they  met,  an  hour  or  two  after  these  occurrences,  he 
could  not  help  noticing  how  easily  she  seemed  to  have 
got  over  her  excitement.  She  was  very  pleasant  with 
him,  —  too  pleasant,  Dick  thought.  It  was  not  El 
sie 'sway  to  come  out  of  a  fit  of  anger  so  easily  as  that. 
She  had  contrived  some  way  of  letting  off  her  spite; 
that  was  certain.  Dick  was  pretty  cunning,  as  old 


ELSIE    VENNER.  361 

Sophy  had  said,  and,  whether  or  not  he  had  any 
means  of  knowing  Elsie's  private  intentions,  watched 
her  closely,  and  was  on  his  guard  against  accidents. 

For  the  first  time,  he  took  certain  precautions  with 
reference  to  his  diet,  such  as  were  quite  alien  to  his 
common  habits.  On  coming  to  the  dinner-table,  that 
day,  he  complained  of  headache,  took  but  little  food, 
and  refused  the  cup  of  coffee  which  Elsie  offered  him, 
saying  that  it  did  not  agree  with  him  when  he  had 
these  attacks. 

Here  was  a  new  complication.  Obviously  enough, 
he  could  not  live  in  this  way,  suspecting  everything 
but  plain  bread  and  water,  and  hardly  feeling  safe  in 
meddling  with  them.  Not  only  had  this  school-keep 
ing  wretch  come  between  him  and  the  scheme  by  which 
he  was  to  secure  his  future  fortune,  but  his  image  had 
so  infected  his  cousin's  mind  that  she  was  ready  to  try 
on  him  some  of  those  tricks  which,  as  he  had  heard 
hinted  in  the  village,  she  had  once  before  put  in  prac 
tice  upon  a  person  who  had  become  odious  to  her. 

Something  must  be  done,  and  at  once,  to  meet  the 
double  necessities  of  this  case.  Every  day,  while  the 
young  girl  was  in  these  relations  with  the  young  man, 
was  only  making  matters  worse.  They  could  ex 
change  words  and  looks,  they  could  arrange  private 
interviews,  they  would  be  stooping  together  over  the 
same  book,  her  hair  touching  his  cheek,  her  breath 
mingling  with  his,  all  the  magnetic  attractions  draw 
ing  them  together  with  strange,  invisible  effluences. 
As  her  passion  for  the  schoolmaster  increased,  her 
dislike  to  him,  her  cousin,  would  grow  with  it,  and 
all  his  dangers  would  be  multiplied.  It  was  a  fearful 
point  he  had  reached.  He  was  tempted  at  one  moment 
to  give  up  all  his  plans  and  to  disappear  suddenly 


362  ELSIE   VENNER. 

from  the  place,  leaving  with  the  schoolmaster,  who 
had  come  between  him  and  his  object,  an  anonymous 
token  of  his  personal  sentiments  which  would  be  re 
membered  a  good  while  in  the  history  of  the  town  of 
Rockland.  This  was  but  a  momentary  thought;  the 
great  Dudley  property  could  not  be  given  up  in  that 
way. 

Something  must  happen  at  once  to  break  up  all  this 
order  of  things.  He  could  think  of  but  one  Provi 
dential  event  adequate  to  the  emergency,  —  an  event 
foreshadowed  by  various  recent  circumstances,  but 
hitherto  floating  in  his  mind  only  as  a  possibility. 
Its  occurrence  would  at  once  change  the  course  of 
Elsie's  feelings,  providing  her  with  something  to  think 
of  besides  mischief,  and  remove  the  accursed  obstacle 
which  was  thwarting  all  his  own  projects.  Every 
possible  motive,  then,  —  his  interest,  his  jealousy,  his 
longing  for  revenge,  and  now  his  fears  for  his  own 
safety,  —  urged  him  to  regard  the  happening  of  a  cer 
tain  casualty  as  a  matter  of  simple  necessity.  This 
was  the  self-destruction  of  Mr.  Bernard  Langdon. 

Such  an  event,  though  it  might  be  surprising  to 
many  people,  would  not  be  incredible,  nor  without 
many  parallel  cases.  He  was  poor,  a  miserable  fag, 
under  the  control  of  that  mean  wretch  up  there  at  the 
school,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  sour  buttermilk  in  his 
veins  instead  of  blood.  He  was  in  love  with  a  girl 
above  his  station,  rich,  and  of  old  family,  but  strange 
in  all  her  ways,  and  it  was  conceivable  that  he  should 
become  suddenly  jealous  of  her.  Or  she  might  have 
frightened  him  with  some  display  of  her  peculiarities 
which  had  filled  him  with  a  sudden  repugnance  in  the 
place  of  love.  Any  of  these  things  were  credible,  and 
would  make  a  probable  story  enough,  —  so  thought 


ELSIE   VENNER.  363 

)ick  over  to  himself  with  the  New-England  half  of 
as  mind. 

Unfortunately,  men  will  not  always  take  themselves 
»ut  of  the  way  when,  so  far  as  their  neighbors  are 
soncerned,  it  would  be  altogether  the  most  appropriate 
ind  graceful  and  acceptable  service  they  could  render. 
There  was  at  this  particular  moment  no  special  reason 
'or  believing  that  the  schoolmaster  meditated  any 
violence  to  his  own  person.  On  the  contrary,  there 
was  good  evidence  that  he  was  taking  some  care  of 
himself.  He  was  looking  well  and  in  good  spirits, 
ind  in  the  habit  of  amusing  himself  and  exercising, 
as  if  to  keep  up  his  standard  of  health,  especially  of 
taking  certain  evening- walks,  before  referred  to,  at 
an  hour  when  most  of  the  Rockland  people  had  "re 
tired,"  or,  in  vulgar  language,  "gone  to  bed." 

Dick  Venner  settled  it,  however,  in  his  own  mind, 
that  Mr.  Bernard  Langdon  must  lay  violent  hands 
upon  himself.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  determine 
the  precise  hour,  and  the  method  in  which  the  "rash 
act,"  as  it  would  undoubtedly  be  called  in  the  next 
issue  of  "The  Kockland  Weekly  Universe,"  should 
be  committed.  Time,  —  this  evening.  Method,  — 
asphyxia,  by  suspension.  It  was,  unquestionably, 
taking  a  great  liberty  with  a  man  to  decide  'that  he 
should  become  felo  de  se  without  his  own  consent. 
Such,  however,  was  the  decision  of  Mr.  Richard 
Venner  with  regard  to  Mr.  Bernard  Langdon. 

If  everything  went  right,  then,  there  would  be  a 
coroner's  inquest  to-morrow  upon  what  remained  of 
that  gentleman,  found  suspended  to  the  branch  of  a 
tree  somewhere  within  a  mile  of  the  Apollinean  In 
stitute.  The  "Weekly  Universe"  would  have  a 
startling  paragraph  announcing  a  "  SAD  EVENT ! !  I ' 


364  ELSIE   VENNER. 

which  had  "thrown  the  town  into  an  intense  state  of 
excitement.  Mr.  Barnard  Langden,  a  well-known 
teacher  at  the  Appolinian  Institute,  was  found,  etc., 
etc.  The  vital  spark  was  extinct.  The  motive  to  the 
rash  act  can  only  be  conjectured,  but  is  supposed  to 
be  disapointed  affection.  The  name  of  an  accom 
plished  young  lady  of  the  highest  respectability  and 
great  beauty  is  mentioned  in  connection  with  this 
melencholy  occurence." 

Dick  Venner  was  at  the  tea-table  that  evening,  as 
usual.  —  No,  he  would  take  green  tea,  if  she  pleased, 
—  the  same  that  her  father  drank.  It  would  suit  his 
headache  better.  —  Nothing,  —  he  was  much  obliged 
to  her.  He  would  help  himself,  —  which  he  did  in 
a  little  different  way  from  common,  naturally  enough, 
on  account  of  his  headache.  He  noticed  that  Elsie 
seemed  a  little  nervous  while  she  was  rinsing  some  of 
the  teacups  before  their  removal. 

"There  's  something  going  on  in  that  witch's  head," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  1  know  her,  —  she  'd  be  savage 
now,  if  she  had  n't  got  some  trick  in  hand.  Let  's 
see  how  she  looks  to-morrow !  " 

Dick  announced  that  he  should  go  to  bed  early  that 
evening,  on  account  of  this  confounded  headache 
which  had  been  troubling  him  so  much.  In  fact,  he 
went  up  early,  and  locked  his  door  after  him,  with  as 
much  noise  as  he  could  make.  He  then  changed  some 
part  of  his  dress,  so  that  it  should  be  dark  through 
out,  slipped  off  his  boots,  drew  the  lasso  out  from  the 
bottom  of  the  contents  of  his  trunk,  and,  carrying  that 
and  his  boots  in  his  hand,  opened  his  door  softly, 
locked  it  after  him,  and  stole  down  the  back-stairs, 
so  as  to  get  out  of  the  house  unnoticed.  He  went 
straight  to  the  stable  and  saddled  the  mustang.  He 


ELSIE   VENNER.  365 

iok  a  rope  from  the  stable  with  him,  mounted  his 
forse,  and  set  forth  in  the  direction  of  the  Institute. 
1  Mr.  Bernard,  as  we  have  seen,  had  not  been  very 
rofoundly  impressed  by  the  old  Doctor's  cautions, 
—  enough,  however,  to  follow  out  some  of  his  hints 
/hich  were  not  troublesome  to  attend  to.  He  laughed 
i  the  idea  of  carrying  a  loaded  pistol  about  with  him ; 
>ut  still  it  seemed  only  fair,  as  the  old  Doctor  thought 
;o  much  of  the  matter,  to  humor  him  about  it.  As 
:or  not  going  about  when  and  where  he  liked,  for  fear 
ae  might  have  some  lurking  enemy,  that  was  a  thing 
aot  to  be  listened  to  nor  thought  of.  There  was  no 
thing  to  be  ashamed  of  or  troubled  about  in  any  of 
his  relations  with  the  school-girls.  Elsie,  no  doubt, 
showed  a  kind  of  attraction  towards  him,  as  did  per 
haps  some  others :  but  he  had  been  perfectly  discreet, 
and  no  father  or  brother  or  lover  had  any  just  cause  of 
quarrel  with  him.  To  be  sure,  that  dark  young  man 
at  the  Dudley  mansion-house  looked  as  if  he  were  his 
enemy,  when  he  had  met  him ;  but  certainly  there  was 
nothing  in  their  relations  to  each  other,  or  in  his  own 
to  Elsie,  that  would  be  like  to  stir  such  malice  in  his 
mind  as  would  lead  him  to  play  any  of  his  wild  South 
ern  tricks  at  his,  Mr.  Bernard's,  expense.  Yet  he 
had  a  vague  feeling  that  this  young  man  was  danger 
ous,  and  he  had  been  given  to  understand  that  one  of 
the  risks  he  ran  was  from  that  quarter. 

On  this  particular  evening,  he  had  a  strange,  un 
usual  sense  of  some  impending  peril.  His  recent  in 
terview  with  the  Doctor,  certain  remarks  which  had 
been  dropped  in  his  hearing,  but  above  all  an  unac 
countable  impression  upon  his  spirits,  all  combined  to 
fill  his  mind  with  a  foreboding  conviction  that  he  was 
very  near  some  overshadowing  danger.  It  was  as  the 


366  ELSIE  VENNER. 

chill  of  the  ice-mountain  toward  which  the  ship  is 
steering  under  full  sail.  He  felt  a  strong  impulse  to 
see  Helen  Darley  and  talk  with  her.  She  was  in  the 
common  parlor,  and,  fortunately,  alone. 

"Helen,"  he  said, — for  they  were  almost  like 
brother  and  sister  now,  —  "I  have  been  thinking  what 
you  would  do,  if  I  should  have  to  leave  the  school  at 
short  notice,  or  be  taken  away  suddenly  by  any  acci 
dent." 

"Do?"  she  said,  her  cheek  growing  paler  than  its 
natural  delicate  hue, —  "why,  I  do  not  know  how  I 
could  possibly  consent  to  live  here,  if  you  left  us. 
Since  you  came,  my  life  has  been  almost  easy ;  before, 
it  was  getting  intolerable.  You  must  not  talk  about 
going,  my  dear  friend;  you  have  spoiled  me  for  my 
place.  Who  is  there  here  that  I  can  have  any  true 
society  with,  but  you  ?  You  would  not  leave  us  for 
another  school,  would  you?" 

"No,  no,  my  dear  Helen,"  Mr.  Bernard  said,  "if 
it  depends  on  myself,  I  shall  stay  out  my  full  time, 
and  enjoy  your  company  and  friendship.  But  every 
thing  is  uncertain  in  this  world.  I  have  been  think 
ing  that  I  might  be  wanted  elsewhere,  and  called 
when  I  did  not  think  of  it ;  —  it  was  a  fancy,  perhaps, 
—  but  I  can't  keep  it  out  of  my  mind  this  evening. 
If  any  of  my  fancies  should  come  true,  Helen,  there 
are  two  or  three  messages  I  want  to  leave  with  you* 
I  have  marked  a  book  or  two  with  a  cross  in  pencil  on 
the  fly-leaf; — these  are  for  you.  There  is  a  little 
hymn-book  I  should  like  to  have  you  give  to  Elsie 
from  me ;  —  it  may  be  a  kind  of  comfort  to  the  poor 
girl." 

Helen's  eyes  glistened  as  she  interrupted  him,  — 

"What  do  you  mean?     You  must  not  talk  so,  Mr. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  367 

Langdon.  Why,  you  never  looked  better  in  your  life. 
Tell  me  now,  you  are  not  in  earnest,  are  you,  but 
only  trying  a  little  sentiment  on  me?  " 

Mr.  Bernard  smiled,  but  rather  sadly. 

"About  half  in  earnest,"  he  said.  "I  have  had 
some  fancies  in  my  head,  —  superstitions,  I  suppose, 
• — at  any  rate,  it  does  no  harm  to  tell  you  what  I 
should  like  to  have  done,  if  anything  should  happen, 
—  very  likely  nothing  ever  will.  Send  the  rest  of  the 
books  home,  if  you  please,  and  write  a  letter  to  my 
mother.  And,  Helen,  you  will  find  one  small  volume 
in  my  desk  enveloped  and  directed,  you  will  see  to 
whom ;  —  give  this  with  your  own  hands ;  it  is  a  keep 
sake." 

The  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes;  she  could  not 
speak  at  first.  Presently,  — 

"Why,  Bernard,  my  dear  friend,  my  brother,  it 
cannot  be  that  you  are  in  danger?  Tell  me  what  it 
is,  and,  if  I  can  share  it  with  you,  or  counsel  you  in 
any  way,  it  will  only  be  paying  back  the  great  debt  I 
owe  you.  No,  no,  — it  can't  be  true,  — you  are  tired 
and  worried,  and  your  spirits  have  got  depressed.  I 
know  what  that  is ;  —  I  was  sure,  one  winter,  that  I 
should  die  before  spring ;  but  I  lived  to  see  the  dande 
lions  and  buttercups  go  to  seed.  Come,  tell  me  it 
was  nothing  but  your  imagination." 

She  felt  a  tear  upon  her  cheek,  but  would  not  turn 
her  face  away  from  him ;  it  was  the  tear  of  a  sister. 

"I  am  really  in  earnest,  Helen,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  know  that  there  is  the  least  reason  in  the  world 
for  these  fancies.  If  they  all  go  off  and  nothing 
comes  of  them,  you  may  laugh  at  me,,  if  you  like. 
But  if  there  should  be  any  occasion,  remember  my 
requests.  You  don't  believe  in  presentiments,  do 
you?" 


368  ELSIE  VENNER. 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me,  I  beg  you,"  Helen  answered. 
"I  have  had  a  good  many  frights  for  every  one  real 
misfortune  I  have  suffered.  Sometimes  I  have 
thought  I  was  warned  beforehand  of  coming  trouble, 
just  as  many  people  are  of  changes  in  the  weather,  by 
some  unaccountable  feeling,  —  but  not  often,  and  I 
don't  like  to  talk  about  such  things.  I  wouldn't 
think  about  these  fancies  of  yours.  I  don't  believe 
you  have  exercised  enough;  —  don't  you  think  it's 
confinement  in  the  school  has  made  you  nervous?" 

"Perhaps  it  has;  but  it  happens  that  I  have  thought 
more  of  exercise  lately,  and  have  taken  regular  even 
ing  walks,  besides  playing  my  old  gymnastic  tricks 
every  day." 

They  talked  on  many  subjects,  but  through  all  he 
said  Helen  perceived  a  pervading  tone  of  sadness,  and 
an  expression  as  of  a  dreamy  foreboding  of  unknown 
evil.  They  parted  at  the  usual  hour,  and  went  to 
their  several  rooms.  The  sadness  of  Mr.  Bernard 
had  sunk  into  the  heart  of  Helen,  and  she  mingled 
many  tears  with  her  prayers  that  evening,  earnestly 
entreating  that  he  might  be  comforted  in  his  days  of 
trial  and  protected  in  his  hour  of  danger. 

Mr.  Bernard  stayed  in  his  room  a  short  time  before 
setting  out  for  his  evening  walk.  His  eye  fell  upon 
the  Bible  his  mother  had  given  him  when  he  left 
home,  and  he  opened  it  in  the  New  Testament  at  a 
venture.  It  happened  that  the  4irst  words  he  read 
were  these,  —  "  Lest,  coming  suddenly,  he  find  you 
sleeping.'1''  In  the  state  of  mind  in  which  he  was  at 
the  moment,  the  text  startled  him.  It  was  like  a 
supernatural  warning.  He  was  not  going  to  expose 
himself  to  any  particular  danger  this  evening ;  a  walk 
in  a  quiet  village  was  as  free  from  risk  as  Helen 


369 

Darley  or  his  own  mother  could  ask ;  yet  he  had  an 
unaccountable  feeling  of  apprehension,  without  any 
definite  object.  At  this  moment  he  remembered  the 
old  Doctor's  counsel,  which  he  had  sometimes  neg 
lected,  and,  blushing  at  the  feeling  which  led  him  to 
do  it,  he  took  the  pistol  his  suspicious  old  friend  had 
forced  upon  him,  which  he  had  put  away  loaded,  and, 
i  thrusting  it  into  his  pocket,  set  out  upon  his  walk. 

The  moon  was  shining  at  intervals,  for  the  night 
was  partially  clouded.  There  seemed  to  be  nobody 
stirring,  though  his  attention  was  unusually  awake, 
and  he  could  hear  the  whirr  of  the  bats  overhead,  and 
the  pulsating  croak  of  the  frogs  in  the  distant  pools 
and  marshes.  Presently  he  detected  the  sound  of 
hoofs  at  some  distance,  and,  looking  forward,  saw  a 
horseman  coming  in  his  direction.  The  moon  was 
under  a  cloud  at  the  moment,  and  he  could  only  ob 
serve  that  the  horse  and  his  rider  looked  like  a  single 
dark  object,  and  that  they  were  moving  along  at  an 
easy  pace.  Mr.  Bernard  was  really  ashamed  of  him 
self,  when  he  found  his  hand  on  the  butt  of  his  pistol. 
When  the  horseman  was  within  a  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  of  him,  the  moon  shone  out  suddenly  and  re 
vealed  each  of  them  to  the  other.  The  rider  paused 
for  a  moment,  as  if  carefully  surveying  the  pedestrian, 
then  suddenly  put  his  horse  to  the  full  gallop,  and 
dashed  towards  him,  rising  at  the  same  instant  in  his 
stirrups  and  swinging  something  round  his  head, — • 
what,  Mr.  Bernard  could  not  make  out.  It  was  a 
strange  manoeuvre,  —  so  strange  and  threatening  in 
aspect  that  the  young  man  forgot  his  nervousness  in 
an  instant,  cocked  his  pistol,  and  waited  to  see  what 
mischief  all  this  meant.  He  did  not  wait  long.  As 
the  rider  came  rushing  towards  him,  he  made  a  rapid 


370  ELSIE   VENNER. 

motion  and  something  leaped  five-and-twenty  feet 
through  the  air,  in  Mr.  Bernard's  direction.  In  an 
instant  he  felt  a  ring,  as  of  a  rope  or  thong,  settle 
upon  his  shoulders.  There  was  no  time  to  think,  — 
he  would  be  lost  in  another  second.  He  raised  his 
pistol  and  fired,  —  not  at  the  rider,  but  at  the  horse,, 
His  aim  was  true;  the  mustang  gave  one  bound  and 
fell  lifeless,  shot  through  the  head.  The  lasso  was 
fastened  to  his  saddle,  and  his  last  bound  threw  Mr. 
Bernard  violently  to  the  earth,  where  he  lay  motion 
less,  as  if  stunned. 

In  the  mean  time,  Dick  Venner,  who  had  been 
dashed  down  with  his  horse,  was  trying  to  extricate 
himself,  —  one  of  his  legs  being  held  fast  under  the 
animal,  the  long  spur  on  his  boot  having  caught  in  the 
saddle-cloth.  He  found,  however,  that  he  could  do 
nothing  with  his  right  arm,  his  shoulder  having  been 
in  some  way  injured  in  his  fall.  But  his  Southern 
blood  was  up,  and,  as  he  saw  Mr.  Bernard  move  as  if 
he  were  coming  to  his  senses,  he  struggled  violently 
to  free  himself. 

"I  '11  have  the  dog,  yet,"  he  said,  —  "only  let  me 
get  at  him  with  the  knife !  " 

He  had  just  succeeded  in  extricating  his  imprisoned 
leg,  and  was  ready  to  spring  to  his  feet,  when  he  was 
caught  firmly  by  the  throat,  and  looking  up,  saw  a 
clumsy  barbed  weapon,  commonly  known  as  a  hay 
fork,  within  an  inch  of  his  breast. 

"  Hold  on  there !  What  'n  thunder  V  y '  abaout, 
y'  darned  Portagee?"  said  a  voice,  with  a  decided 
nasal  tone  in  it,  but  sharp  and  resolute. 

Dick  looked  from  the  weapon  to  the  person  who 
held  it,  and  saw  a  sturdy,  plain  man  standing  over 
him,  with  his  teeth  clinched,  and  his  aspect  that  of 
one  all  ready  for  mischief. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  371 

"Lay  still,  naow!"  said  Abel  Stebbins,  the  Doc- 
,or's  man;  "'f  y'  don't,  I'll  stick  ye,  'z  sure  'z  y' 
r'  alive !  I  been  aafter  ye  f 'r  a  week,  'n'  I  got  y' 
laow!  I  knowed  I  'd  ketch  ye  at  some  darned  trick 
>r  'nother  'fore  I  'd  done  'ith  ye !  " 

Dick  lay  perfectly  still,  feeling  that  he  was  crip° 
3led  and  helpless,  thinking  all  the  time  with  the 
fankee  half  of  his  mind  what  to  do  about  it.  He 
jaw  Mr.  Bernard  lift  his  head  and  look  around  him. 
[He  would  get  his  senses  again  in  a  few  minutes,  very 
probably,  and  then  he,  Mr.  Richard  Venner,  would 
be  done  for. 

"Let  me  up!  let  me  up! "  he  cried,  in  a  low,  hur 
ried  voice,  —  "I  '11  give  you  a  hundred  dollars  in  gold 
to  let  me  go.  The  man  a'n't  hurt,  —  don't  you  see 
him  stirring  ?  He  '11  come  to  himself  in  two  minutes. 
Let  me  up !  I  '11  give  you  a  hundred  and.  fifty  dollars 
in  gold,  now,  here  on  the  spot,  —  and  the  watch  out 
of  my  pocket;  take  it  yourself,  with  your  own  hands!  " 

"I'll  see  y'  darned  fust!  Ketch  me  lett'n'  go!" 
was  Abel's  emphatic  answer.  "Yeou  lay  still,  'n' 
wait  t'll  that  man  comes  tew." 

He  kept  the  hay -fork  ready  for  action  at  the  slight 
est  sign  of  resistance. 

Mr.  Bernard,  in  the  mean  time,  had  been  getting, 
first  his  senses,  and  then  some  few  of  his  scattered 
wits,  a  little  together. 

"What  is  it?  "  —  he  said.  "Who'shurt?  What's 
happened?" 

"Come  along  here 'z  quick 'z  y'  ken,"  Abel  an 
swered,  "  'n'  haalp  me  fix  this  fellah.  Y'  been  hurt, 
y'rself,  'n'  the'  's  murder  come  pooty  nigh  happen- 
in'." 

Mr.  Bernard  heard  the  answer,  but  presently  stared 


372  ELSIE   VENNER. 

about   and   asked   again,    "  Who  's  hurt  ?      What  'a 
happened?" 

"Y'  V  hurt,  y'rself,  I  tell  ye,"  said  Abel;  "V 
the'  's  been  a  murder,  pooty  nigh." 

Mr.  Bernard  felt  something  about  his  neck,  and, 
putting  his  hands  up,  found  the  loop  of  the  lasso, 
which  he  loosened,  but  did  not  think  to  slip  over  his 
head,  in  the  confusion  of  his  perceptions  and  thoughts. 
It  was  a  wonder  that  it  had  not  choked  him,  but  he 
had  fallen  forward  so  as  to  slacken  it. 

By  this  time  he  was  getting  some  notion  of  what 
he  was  about,  and  presently  began  looking  round  for 
his  pistol,  which  had  fallen.  He  found  it  lying  near 
him,  cocked  it  mechanically,  and  walked,  somewhat 
unsteadily,  towards  the  two  men,  who  were  keeping 
their  position  as  still  as  if  they  were  performing  in  a 
tableau. 

"Quick,  naow!"  said  Abel,  who  had  heard  the 
click  of  cocking  the  pistol,  and  saw  that  he  held  it  in 
his  hand,  as  he  came  towards  him.  "Gi'  me  tha 
pistil,  and  yeou  fetch  that  'ere  rope  layin'  there.  I  '11 
have  this  here  fellah  fixed  'n  less  'n  two  minutes." 

Mr.  Bernard  did  as  Abel  said,  —  stupidly  and  me-  1 
chanically,  for  he  was  but  half  right  as  yet.  Abel  ; 
pointed  the  pistol  at  Dick's  head.  t 

"Naow  hold  up  y'r  hands,  yeou  fellah,"  he  said, 
"  'n'  keep  'em  up,  while  this  man  puts  the  rope  raound     i 
y'r  wrists."  •*: 

Dick  felt  himself  helpless,  and,  rather  than  have 
his  disabled  arm  roughly  dealt  with,  held  up  his 
hands.  Mr.  Bernard  did  as  Abel  said;  he  was  in  a 
purely  passive  state,  and  obeyed  orders  like  a  child. 
Abel  then  secured  the  rope  in  a  most  thorough  and 
satisfactory  complication  of  twists  and  knots.  H  < 


ELSIE   VENNER.  373 

"  Naow  get  up,  will  ye  ?  "  he  said  ;  and  the  unfortu 
nate  Dick  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Who's  hurt?  What's  happened ?"  asked  poor 
Mr.  Bernard  again,  his  memory  having  been  com 
pletely  jarred  out  of  him  for  the  time. 

"  Come,  look  here  naow,  yeou,  don'  stan'  aaskin' 
questions  over  V  over ;  —  't  beats  all !  ha'n't  I  tol'  y5 
a  dozen  times  ?  " 

As  Abel  spoke,  he  turned  and  looked  at  Mr.  Ber 
nard. 

"  Hullo  !     What  'n  thunder  's  that  'ere  raoun'  y'r 

i neck?     Ketched  ye  'ith  a  slippernoose,  hey?     Wai, 

if  that  a'n't  the  craowner  !     HoF  on  a  minute,  Cap'n, 

I1  'n'  I  '11  show  ye  what  that  'ere  halter 's  good  for." 
Abel  slipped  the  noose  over  Mr.  Bernard's  head, 
i  and  put  it  round  the  neck  of  the  miserable  Dick  Ven- 
»  ner,  who  made  no  sign  of  resistance,  —  whether  on 
account  of  the  pain  he  was  in,  or  from  mere  helpless- 
»  ness,  or  because  he  was  waiting  for  some  unguarded 
i  moment  to  escape,  —  since  resistance  seemed  of   no 
I  use. 

"  I  'm  go'n'  to  kerry  y'  home,"  said  Abel ;  "  th'  ol' 
Doctor,  he  's  got  a  gre't  cur'osity  t'  see  ye.  Jes'  step 
along  naow,  —  off  that  way,  will  ye  ?  —  'n'  I  '11  hoi' 
on  t'  th'  bridle,  f  fear  y'  sh'd  run  away." 

He  took  hold  of  the  leather  thong,  but  found  that 
it  was  fastened  at  the  other  end  to  the  saddle.     This 
*  was  too  much  for  Abel. 

"  Wai,  naow,  yeou  be  a  pooty  chap  to  hev  raound ! 
A  fellah's  neck  in  a  slippernoose  at  one  eend  of  a 
halter,  'n'  a  hoss  on  th'  full  spring  at  t'  other  eend  !  " 
He  looked  at  him  from  head  to  foot  as  a  naturalist 
inspects  a  new  specimen.  His  clothes  had  suffered  in 
his  fall,  especially  on  the  leg  which  had  been  caught 
under  the  horse., 


374  ELSIE  VENNER. 

"  Hullo  !  look  o'  there,  naow  !  What 's  that  'ere 
stickin'  aout  o'  y'r  boot  ?  " 

It  was  nothing  but  the  handle  of  an  ugly  knife, 
which  Abel  instantly  relieved  him  of. 

The  party  now  took  up  the  line  of  march  for  old 
Doctor  Kittredge's  house,  Abel  carrying  the  pistol 
and  knife,  and  Mr.  Bernard  walking  in  silence,  still 
half-stunned,  holding  the  hay-fork,  which  Abel  had 
thrust  into  his  hand.  It  was  all  a  dream  to  him  as 
yet.  He  remembered  the  horseman  riding  at  him, 
and  his  firing  the  pistol ;  but  whether  he  was  alive, 
and  these  walls  around  him  belonged  to  the  village  of 
Rockland,  or  whether  he  had  passed  the  dark  river, 
and  was  in  a  suburb  of  the  Ne.w  Jerusalem,  he  could 
not  as  yet  have  told. 

They  were  in  the  street  where  the  Doctor's  house 
was  situated. 

"  I  guess  I  '11  fire  off  one  o'  these  here  berrils,"  said 
Abel. 

He  fired. 

Presently  there  was  a  noise  of  opening  windows, 
and  the  nocturnal  head-dresses  of  Rockland  flowered 
out  of  them  like  so  many  developments  of  the  Night- 
blooming  Cereus.  White  cotton  caps  and  red  ban 
danna  handkerchiefs  were  the  prevailing  forms  of 
efflorescence.  The  main  point  was  that  the  village 
was  waked  up.  The  old  Doctor  always  waked  easily, 
from  long  habit,  and  was  the  first  among  those  who 
looked  out  to  see  what  had  happened. 

"  Why,  Abel !  "  he  called  out,  "  what  have  you  got 
there  ?  and  what 's  all  this  noise  about  ?  " 

"  We  've  ketched  the  Portagee  !  "  Abel  answered, 
as  laconically  as  the  hero  of  Lake  Erie,  in  his  famous 
dispatch.  "  Go  in  there,  you  fellah  I  " 


ELSIE  VENNER.  875 

The  prisoner  was  marched  into  the  house,  and  the 
Doctor,  who  had  bewitched  his  clothes  upon  him  in  a 
way  that  would  have  been  miraculous  in  anybody  but 
a  physician,  was  down  in  presentable  form  as  soon  as 
if  it  had  been  a  child  in  a  fit  that  he  was  sent  for. 

"  Richard  Venner !  "  the  Doctor  exclaimed.  "  What 
is  the  meaning  of  all  this?  Mr.  Langdon,  has  any 
thing  happened  to  you?  " 

Mr.  Bernard  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 

*'My  mind  is  confused,"  he  said.  "I've  had  a 
fall.  —  Oh,  yes !  —  wait  a  minute  and  it  will  all  come 
back  to  me." 

"Sit  down,  sit  down, "the  Doctor  said.     "Abel  will 
tell   me   about  it.     Slight  concussion    of  the   brain. 
Can't  remember  very  well   for  an  hour  or  two,  —  will 
:  come  right  by  to-morrow." 

"Been  stunded,"  Abel  said.     "He  can't  tell  no- 
i  thin'." 

Abel  then  proceeded  to  give  a  Napoleonic  bulletin 
of  the  recent  combat  of  cavalry  and  infantry  and  its 
results,  —  none  slain,  one  captured. 

The  Doctor  looked  at  the  prisoner  through  his  spec 
tacles. 

"What  's  the  matter  with  your  shoulder,  Venner?" 

Dick  answered  sullenly,  that  he  did  n't  know,  — 
fell  on  it  when  his  horse  came  down.  The  Doctor 
examined  it  as  carefully  as  he  could  through  his  clothes. 

"Out  of  joint.     Untie  his  hands,  AbeL 

By  this  time  a  small  alarm  had  spread  among  the 
neighbors,  and  there  was  a  circle  around  Dick,  who 
glared  about  on  the  assembled  honest  people  like  a 
hawk  with  a  broken  wing. 

When  the  Doctor  said,  "Untie  his  hands,"  the  cir 
cle  widened  perceptibly. 


376  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"Isn't  it  a  leetle  rash  to  give  him  the  use  of  his 
hands?  I  see  there's  females  and  children  standin' 
near." 

This  was  the  remark  of  our  old  friend,  Deacon 
Soper,  who  retired  from  the  front  row,  as  he  spoke, 
behind  a  respectable-looking,  but  somewhat  hastily 
dressed  person  of  the  defenceless  sex,  the  female  help 
of  a  neighboring  household,  accompanied  by  a  boy, 
whose  unsmoothed  shock  of  hair  looked  like  a  last- 
year's  crow's-nest. 

But  Abel  untied  his  hands,  in  spite  of  the  Deacon's 
considerate  remonstrance. 

"Now,"  said  the  Doctor,  "the  first  thing  is  to  put 
the  joint  back." 

"Stop,"  said  Deacon  Soper,  —  "stop  a  minute. 
Don't  you  think  it  will  be  safer  —  for  the  women -folks 
—  jest  to  wait  till  mornin',  afore  you  put  that  j'int 
into  the  socket?" 

Colonel  Sprowle,  who  had  been  called  by  a  special 
messenger,  spoke  up  at  this  moment. 

"Let  the  women -folks  and  the  deacons  go  home,  if 
they  're  scared,  and  put  the  fellah's  j'int  in  as  quick 
as  you  like.  I  '11  resk  him,  j'int  in  or  out." 

"I  want  one  of  you  to  go  straight  down  to  Dudley 
Venner's  with  a  message,"  the  Doctor  said.  "I  will 
have  the  young  man's  shoulder  in  quick  enough." 

"Don't  send  that  message!  "  said  Dick,  in  a  hoarse 
voice;  —  "do  what  you  like  with  my  arm,  but  don't 
send  that  message  I  Let  me  go,  —  I  can  walk,  and 
I  '11  be  off  from  this  place.  There  's  nobody  hurt  but 
myself.  Damn  the  shoulder !  —  let  me  go !  You  shall 
never  hear  of  me  again !  " 

Mr.  Bernard  came  forward. 

"My  friends,"  he  said,  "/am  not  injured,  — seri« 


ELSIE   VENNER.  377 

ously,  at  least.  Nobody  need  complain  against  this 
man,  if  I  don't.  The  Doctor  will  treat  him  like  a 
human  being,  at  any  rate;  and  then,  if  he  will  go,  let 
him.  There  are  too  many  witnesses  against  him  here 
for  him  to  want  to  stay." 

The  Doctor,  in  the  mean  time,  without  saying  a 
word  to  all  this,  had  got  a  towel  round  the  shoulder 
and  chest  and  another  round  the  arm,  and  had  the 
bone  replaced  in  a  very  few  minutes. 

"Abel,  put  Cassia  into  the  new  chaise,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "My  friends  and  neighbors,  leave  this 
young  man  to  me." 

"Colonel  Sprowle,  you're  a  justice  of  the  peace," 
said  Deacon  Soper,  "and  you  know  what  the  law  says 
in  cases  like  this.  It  a'n't  so  clear  that  it  won't  have 
to  come  afore  the  Grand  Jury,  whether  we  will  or 
no." 

"I  guess  we  '11  set  that  j'int  to-morrow  morn- 
in',"  said  Colonel  Sprowle, — which  made  a  laugh 
at  the  Deacon's  expense,  and  virtually  settled  the 
question. 

"Now  trust  this  young  man  in  my  care,"  said  the 
old  Doctor.,  "and  go  home  and  finish  your  naps.  I 
knew  him  when  he  was  a  boy  and  I  '11  answer  for  it, 
he  won't  trouble  you  any  more.  The  Dudley  blood 
makes  folks  proud,  I  can  tell  you,  whatever  else  they 
are." 

The  good  people  so  respected  and  believed  in  the 
Doctor  that  they  left  the  prisoner  with  him. 

Presently,  Cassia,  the  fast  Morgan  mare,  came  up 
to  the  ffront-door,  with  the  wheels  of  the  new,  light 
chaise  flashing  behind  her  in  the  moonlight.  The 
Doctor  drove  Dick  forty  miles  at  a  stretch  that  night, 
out  of  the  limits  of  the  State. 


378  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"Do  you  want  money?"  he  said,  before  lie  left 
him. 

Dick  told  him  the  secret  of  his  golden  belt. 

"Where  shall  I  send  your  trunk  after  you  from 
your  uncle's  ?  " 

Dick  gave  him  a  direction  to  a  seaport  town  to 
which  he  himself  was  going,  to  take  passage  for  a  port 
in  South  America. 

"Good-bye,  Richard,"  said  the  Doctor.  "Try  to 
learn  something  from  to-night's  lesson." 

The  Southern  impulses  in  Dick's  wild  blood  over 
came  him,  and  he  kissed  the  old  Doctor  on  both 
cheeks,  crying  as  only  the  children  of  the  sun  can  cry, 
after  the  first  hours  in  the  dewy  morning  of  life.  So 
Dick  Venner  disappears  from  this  story.  An  hour 
after  dawn,  Cassia  pointed  her  fine  ears  homeward, 
and  struck  into  her  square,  honest  trot,  as  if  she  had 
not  been  doing  anything  more  than  her  duty  during 
her  four  hours'  stretch  of  the  last  night. 

Abel  was  not  in  the  habit  of  questioning  the  Doc 
tor's  decisions. 

"It's  all  right,  "he  said  to  Mr.  Bernard.  "The 
fellah  's  Squire  Venner's  relation,  anyhaow.  Don't 
you  want  to  wait  here,  jest  a  little  while,  till  I  come 
back?  The'  's  a  consid'able  nice  saddle  'n'  bridle 
on  a  dead  hoss  that 's  lay  in  daown  there  in  the  road 
'n'  I  guess  the'  a'n't  no  use  in  lettin'  on  'em  spile, 
—  so  I  '11  jest  step  aout  'n'  fetch  'em  along.  I  kind 
o'  calc'late  't  won't  pay  to  take  the  cretur's  shoes  'a' 
hide  off  to-night,  —  'n'  the'  won't  be  much  iron  on 
that  hoss's  huffs  an  haour  after  daylight,  I  '11  bate  ye 
a  quarter." 

"I  '11  walk  along  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Bernard;  — 
"I  feel  as  if  I  could  get  along  well  enough  now." 


ELSIE   VENNER.  379 

So  they  set  off  together.  There  was  a  little  crowd 
round  the  dead  mustang  already,  principally  consist 
ing  of  neighbors  who  had  adjourned  from  the  Doctor's 
house  to  see  the  scene  of  the  late  adventure.  In  ad 
dition  to  these,  however,  the  assembly  was  honored 
by  the  presence  of  Mr.  Principal  Silas  Peckham,  who 
had  been  called  from  his  slumbers  by  a  message  that 
Master  Langdon  was  shot  through  the  head  by  a  high 
way-robber,  but  had  learned  a  true  version  of  the  story 
by  this  time.  His  voice  was  at  that  moment  heard 
above  the  rest,  —  sharp,  but  thin,  like  bad  cider- vine 
gar. 

"I  take  charge  of  that  property,  I  say.  Master 
Langdon  's  actin'  under  my  orders,  and  I  claim  that 
hoss  and  all  that 's  on  him.  Hiram !  jest  slip  off  that 
saddle  and  bridle,  and  carry  'em  up  to  the  Institoot, 
and  bring  down  a  pair  of  pinchers  and  a  file,  —  and 
—  stop  —  fetch  a  pair  of  shears,  too;  there's  hoss- 
hair  enough  in  that  mane  and  tail  to  stuff  a  bolster 
with." 

"You  let  that  hoss  alone!"  spoke  up  Colonel 
Sprowle.  "When  a  fellah  goes  out  huntin'  and 
shoots  a  squirrel,  do  you  think  he  's  go'n'  to  let  an 
other  fellah  pick  him  up  and  kerry  him  off?  Not  if 
he  's  got  a  double-berril  gun,  and  t'other  berril  ha'n't 
been  fired  off  yet!  I  should  like  to  see  the  mahn 
that  '11  take  off  that  seddle  'n'  bridle,  excep'  the  one 
th't  hez  a  fair  right  to  the  whole  concern!  " 

Hiram  was  from  one  of  the  lean  streaks  in  New 
Hampshire,  and,  not  being  overfed  in  Mr.  Silas  Peck- 
ham's  kitchen,  was  somewhat  wanting  in  stamina,  as 
well  as  in  stomach,  for  so  doubtful  an  enterprise  as 
undertaking  to  carry  out  his  employer's  orders  in  the 
face  of  the  Colonel's  defiance. 


380  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Just  then  Mr.  Bernard  and  Abel  came  up  together. 

"Here  they  be,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Stan'  beck, 
gentlemen ! " 

Mr.  Bernard,  who  was  pale  and  still  a  little  con 
fused,  but  gradually  becoming  more  like  himself, 
stood  and  looked  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

All  his  thoughts  seemed  to  be  clearing  themselves 
in  this  interval.  He  took  in  the  whole  series  of  inci 
dents  :  his  own  frightful  risk ;  the  strange,  instinctive, 
nay,  Providential  impulse,  which  had  led  him  so  sud 
denly  to  do  the  one  only  thing  which  could  possibly 
have  saved  him;  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  Doc 
tor's  *nan,  but  for  which  he  might  yet  have  been  lost; 
and  the  discomfiture  and  capture  of  his  dangerous 
enemy. 

It  was  all  past  now,  and  a  feeling  of  pity  rose  in 
Mr.  Bernard's  heart. 

"He  loved  that  horse,  no  doubt,"  he  said,  —  "and 
no  wonder.  A  beautiful,  wild  -  looking  creature ! 
Take  off  those  things  that  are  on  him,  Abel,  and  have 
them  carried  to  Mr.  Dudley  Venner's.  If  he  does  not 
want  them,  you  may  keep  them  yourself,  for  all  that 
I  have  to  say.  One  thing  more.  I  hope  nobody  will 
lift  his  hand  against  this  noble  creature  to  mutilate 
him  in  any  way.  After  you  have  taken  off  the  saddle 
and  bridle,  Abel,  bury  him  just  as  he  is.  Under 
that  old  beech-tree  will  be  a  good  place.  You  '11  see 
to  it,  — won't  you,  Abel?" 

Abel  nodded  assent,  and  Mr.  Bernard  returned  to 
the  Institute,  threw  himself  in  his  clothes  on  the  bed, 
and  slept  like  one  who  is  heavy  with  wine. 

Following  Mr.  Bernard's  wishes,  Abel  at  once  took 
off  the  high-peaked  saddle  and  the  richly  ornamented 
bridle  from  the  mustang.  Then,  with  the  aid  of  two 


ELSIE  VENNER.  381 

or  three  others,  he  removed  him  to  the  place  indicated. 
Spades  and  shovels  were  soon  procured,  and  before 
the  moon  had  set,  the  wild  horse  of  the  Pampas  was 
at  rest  under  the  turf  at  the  wayside,  in  the  far  vil 
lage  among  the  hills  of  New  England. 


CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

THE  NEWS   REACHES   THE  DUDLEY  MANSION. 

EARLY  the  next  morning  Abel  Stebbins  made  his 
appearance  at  Dudley  Venner's,  and  requested  to  see 
the  maim  o'  the  haouse  abaout  somethin'  o'  conse 
quence.  Mr.  Vernier  sent  word  that  the  messenger 
should  wait  below,  and  presently  appeared  in  the 
study,  where  Abel  was  making  himself  at  home,  as 
is  the  wont  of  the  republican  citizen,  when  he  hides 
the  purple  of  empire  beneath  the  apron  of  domestic 
service. 

"Good  mornin',  Squire!"  said  Abel,  as  Mr.  Ven- 
ner  entered.  "My  name's  Stebbins,  'n'  I'm  stop- 
pin'  f'r  a  spell  'ith  ol'  Doctor  Kittredge." 

"Well,  Stebbins,"  said  Mr.  Dudley  Vernier,  "have 
you  brought  any  special  message  from  the  Doctor?  " 

"Y'  ha'n't  heerd  nothin'  abaout  it,  Squire,  d'  ye 
mean  t'  say?  "  said  Abel,  — beginning  to  suspect  that 
he  was  the  first  to  bring  the  news  of  last  evening's 
events. 

"About  what?"  asked  Mr.  Venner,  with  some  in 
terest. 

"Dew  tell,  naow!  Waal,  that  beats  all!  Why, 
that  'ere  Portagee  relation  o'  yourn  'z  been  try  in'  t' 
ketch  a  fellah  'n  a  slippernoose,  'n'  got  ketched  him 
self, —  that's  all.  Y'  ha'n't  heerd  noth'n'  abaout 
it?" 

"Sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Dudley  Venner,  calmly, 
"and  tell  me  all  you  have  to  say." 


ELSIE   VENNER.  383 

So  Abel  sat  down  and  gave  him  an  account  of  the 
ents  of  the  last  evening.     It  was  a  strange  and  ter- 
.ble   surprise   to    Dudley  Venner   to   find   that   his 
ephew,  who  had  been  an  inmate  of  his  house  and  the 
jmpanion  of  his  daughter,  was  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
toses  guilty  of  the  gravest  of  crimes.     But  the  first 
hock  was  no  sooner  over  than  he  began  to  think  what 
rffect  the  news  would  have  on  Elsie.     He  imagined 
hat  there  was  a  kind  of  friendly  feeling  between  them, 
[uid  he  feared  some  crisis  would  be  provoked  in  his 
laughter's  mental  condition  by  the  discovery.     He 
vould  wait,  however,  until  she  came  from  her  cham 
ber,  before  disturbing  her  with  the  evil  tidings. 

Abel  did  not  forget  his  message  with  reference  to 
•:he  equipments  of  the  dead  mustang. 

"The'  was  some  things  on  the  hoss,  Squire,  that 
the  man  he  ketched  said  he  did  n'  care  no  gre't 
'abaout;  but  perhaps  you'd  like  to  have  'em  fetched 
to  the  mansion-haouse.  Ef  y'  didii*  care  abaout  'em, 
though,  I  should  n'  min'  keepin'  on  'em;  they  might 
come  handy  some  time  or  'nother:  they  say,  holt  on 
t'  anything  for  ten  year  'n'  there  '11  be  some  kin'  o' 
luse  for  't." 

"Keep  everything,"  said  Dudley  Venner.  "I 
don't  want  to  see  anything  belonging  to  that  young 
man." 

So  Abel  nodded  to  Mr.  Venner,  and  left  the  study 
to  find  some  of  the  men  about  the  stable  to  tell  and 
talk  over  with  them  the  events  of  the  last  evening. 
He  presently  came  upon  Elbridge,  chief  of  the  equine 
department,  and  driver  of  the  family-coach. 

"Good  mornin',  Abe,"  said  Elbridge.  "What's 
fetched  y'  daown  here  so  all-fired  airly?  " 

"You  're  a  darned  pooty  lot  daown  here,  you  be! ' 


384  ELSIE  VENNER. 

Abel  answered.  "Better  keep  your  Portagees  t' 
home  nex'  time,  ketchin'  folks  'ith  slippernooses 
raoun'  their  necks,  'n'  kerryin'  knives  'n  their 
boots!" 

"What  V  yon  jawin'  abaout? "  Elbridge  said, 
looking  up  to  see  if  he  was  in  earnest,  and  what  he 
meant. 

"Jawin*  abaout?  You'll  find  aout 'z  soon  'z  y' 
go  into  that  'ere  stable  o'  yourn!  Y'  won't  curry 
that  'ere  long-tailed  black  hoss  no  more;  'n'  y'  won't 
set  y'r  eyes  on  the  fellah  that  rid  him,  ag'in,  in  a 
hurry ! " 

Elbridge  walked  straight  to  the  stable,  without  say 
ing  a  word,  found  the  door  unlocked,  and  went  in. 

" Th'  critter  's  gone,  sure  enough !  "  he  said.  "  Glad 
on  't!  The  darndest,  kickin'est,  bitin'est  beast  th't 
ever  I  see,  'r  ever  wan'  t'  see  ag'in!  Good  red- 
dance!  Don'  wan'  no  snappin'-turkles  in  my  stable! 
Whar  's  the  man  gone  th't  brought  the  critter?  " 

"Whar  he  's  gone?  Guess  y'  better  go  'n  aask  my 
ol'  man;  he  kerried  him  off  laiis'  night;  'n'  when  he 
comes  back,  mebbe  he  '11  tell  ye  whar  he  's  gone  tew !  " 
\/  By  this  time  Elbridge  had  found  out  that  Abel  was 
in  earnest,  and  had  something  to  tell.  He  looked  at 
the  litter  in  the  mustang's  stall,  then  at  the  crib. 

"Ha'n't  eat  b't  haalf  his  feed.  Ha'n't  been  daown 
on  his  straw.  Must  ha'  been  took  aout  somewhere 
abaout  ten  'r  'leven  o'clock.  I  know  that  'ere  crit 
ter's  ways.  The  fellah  's  had  him  aout  nights  afore; 
b't  I  never  thought  nothin'  o'  no  mischief.  He  's 
a  kin'  o'  haiilf  Injin.  What  is  't  the  chap  's  been 
a-doin'  on?  Tell 's  all  abaout  it." 

Abel  sat  down  on  a  meal-chest,  picked  up  a  straw 
and  put  it  into  his  mouth.  Elbridge  sat  down  at  the 


ELSIE   VENNER.  385 

other  end,  pulled  out  his  jack-knife,  opened  the  pen~ 
knife-blade,  and  began  sticking  it  into  the  lid  of  the 
meal-chest.  The  Doctor's  man  had  a  story  to  tell, 
and  he  meant  to  get  all  the  enjoyment  out  of  it.  So 
he  told  it  with  every  luxury  of  circumstance.  Mr0 
Venner's  man  heard  it  all  with  open  inouth.  No  lis 
tener  in  the  gardens  of  Stamboul  could  have  found 
more  rapture  in  a  tale  heard  amidst  the  perfume  of 
roses  and  the  voices  of  birds  and  tinkling  of  fountains 
than  Elbridge  in  following  Abel's  narrative,  as  they 
sat  there  in  the  aromatic  ammoniacal  atmosphere  of 
the  stable,  the  grinding  of  the  horses'  jaws  keeping 
evenly  on  through  it  all,  with  now  and  then  the  inter 
ruption  of  a  stamping  hoof,  and  at  intervals  a  ringing 
crow  from  the  barn-yard. 

Elbridge  stopped  a  minute  to  think,  after  Abel  had 
finished* 

"Who  's  took  care  o'  them  things  that  was  on  the 
hoss?  "  he  said,  gravely. 

"Waal,  Langden,  he  seemed  to  kin  'o'  think  I  'd 
ought  to  have  'em,  —  'n'  the  Squire,  he  did  n'  seem 
to  have  no  'bjection;  'n'  so,  — waal,  Icalc'late  I  sh'll 
jes'  holt  on  to  'em  myself;  they  a'n't  good  f'r  much, 
but  they  're  cur'ous  t'  keep  t'  look  at." 

Mr.  Venner's  man  did  not  appear  much  gratified 
by  this  arrangement,  especially  as  he  had  a  shrewd 
suspicion  that  some  of  the  ornaments  of  the  bridle 
were  of  precious  metal,  having  made  occasional  exam 
inations  of  them  with  the  edge  of  a  file.  But  he  did 
not  see  exactly  what  to  do  about  it,  except  to  get 
them  from  Abel  in  the  way  of  bargain. 

"Waal,  no, — they  a'n't  good  for  much  'xcep'  to 
look  at.  'F  y'  ever  rid  on  that  seddle  once,  y'  would  n' 
try  it  ag'in,  very  spry.  — not  'f  y'  c'd  haalp  y'rsaalf. 


386  ELSIE    VENNER. 

I  tried  it,  —  darned  'f  I  sot  daown  f 'r  tli'  nex'  week, 

—  eat  all  my  victuals  stan'iii'.     I  sh'd  like  t'  hev 
them  things  wal  enough  to  heng  up  'n  the  stable ;  'f 
y'  want  t'  trade  some  day,  fetch  'em  along  daown." 

Abel  rather  expected  that  Elbridge  would  have  laid 
claim  to  the  saddle  and  bridle  on  the  strength  of  some 
promise  or  other  presumptive  title,  and  thought  him 
self  lucky  to  get  off  with  only  offering  to  think  abaout 
tradin'. 

When  Elbridge  returned  to  the  house,  he  found  the 
family  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  Mr.  Venner 
had  told  Old  Sophy,  and  she  had  informed  the  other 
servants.  Everybody  knew  what  had  happened,  ex 
cepting  Elsie.  Her  father  had  charged  them  all  to 
sty  nothing  about  it  to  her ;  he  would  tell  her,  when 
she  came  down. 

He  heard  her  step  at  last,  —  a  light,  gliding  step, 

—  so  light  that  her  coming  was  often  unheard,  except 
by  those  who  perceived  the  faint  rustle  that  went  with 
it.     She  was  paler  than  common  this  morning,  as  she 
came  into  her  father's  study. 

After  a  few  words  of  salutation,  he  said  quietly,  — 

"Elsie,  my  dear,  your  cousin  Richard  has  left  us." 

She  grew  still  paler,  as  she  asked,  — 

"Is  he  dead?" 

Dudley  Venner  started  to  see  the  expression  with 
which  Elsie  put  this  question. 

"  He  is  living,  —  but  dead  to  us  from  this  day  for 
ward,"  said  her  father. 

He  proceeded  to  tell  her,  in  a  general  way,  the  story 
he  had  just  heard  from  Abel.  There  could  be  no 
doubting  it;  —  he  remembered  him  as  the  Doctor's 
man ;  and  as  Abel  had  seen  all  with  his  own  eyes,  — • 
as  Dick's  chamber,  when  unlocked  wTith  a  spare  key, 


TENNER.  387 

was  found  empty,  and  his  bed  had  not  been  slept  in, 
he  accepted  the  whole  account  as  true. 

When  he  told  of  Dick's  attempt  on  the  young 
schoolmaster,  ("You  know  Mr.  Langdon  very  well, 
Elsie,  —  a  perfectly  inoffensive  young  man,  as  I  un 
derstand,")  Elsie  turned  her  face  away  and  slid  along 
by  the  wall  to  the  window  which  looked  out  on  the 
little  grass-plot  with  the  white  stone  standing  in  it. 
Her  father  could  not  see  her  face,  but  he  knew  by  her 
movements  that  her  dangerous  mood  was  on  her. 
When  she  heard  the  sequel  of  the  story,  the  discom 
fiture  and  capture  of  Dick,  she  turned  round  for  an 
instant,  with  a  look  of  contempt  and  of  something 
like  triumph  upon  her  face.  Her  father  saw  that  her 
cousin  had  become  odious  to  her.  He  knew  well,  by 
every  change  of  her  countenance,  by  her  movements, 
by  every  varying  curve  of  her  graceful  figure,  the 
transitions  from  passion  to  repose,  from  fierce  excite 
ment  to  the  dull  languor  which  often  succeeded  her 
threatening  paroxysms. 

She  remained  looking  out  at  the  window.  A  group 
of  white  fan- tailed  pigeons  had  lighted  on  the  green 
plot  before  it  and  clustered  about  one  of  their  compan 
ions  who  lay  on  his  back,  fluttering  in  a  strange  way, 
with  outspread  wings  and  twitching  feet.  Elsie  ut 
tered  a  faint  cry ;  these  were  her  special  favorites  and 
often  fed  from  her  hand.  She  threw  open  the  long 
window,  sprang  out,  caught  up  the  white  fan-tail,  and 
held  it  to  her  bosom.  The  bird  stretched  himself  out, 
and  then  lay  still,  with  open  eyes,  lifeless.  She 
looked  at  him  a  moment,  and,  sliding  in  through  the 
open  window  and  through  the  study,  sought  her  own 
apartment,  where  she  locked  herself  in,  and  began  to 
sob  and  moan  like  those  that  weep.  But  the  gracious 


388  ELSIE  VENNER. 

solace  of  tears  seemed  to  be  denied  her,  and  her  grief, 
like  her  anger,  was  a  dull  ache,  longing,  like  that,  to 
finish  itself  with  a  fierce  paroxysm,  but  wanting  its 
natural  outlet. 

This  seemingly  trifling  incident  of  the  death  of  her 
favorite  appeared  to  change  all  the  current  of  her 
thought.  Whether  it  were  the  sight  of  the  jyjng  bird, 
or  the  thought  that  her  own  agency  might  have  been 
concerned  in  it,  or  some  deeper  grief,  which  took  this 
occasion  to  declare  itself,  —  some  dark  remorse  or 
hopeless  longing,  —  whatever  it  might  be,  there  was 
an  unwonted  tumult  in  her  soul.  To  whom  should 
she  go  in  her  vague  misery  ?  Only  to  Him  who  knows 
all  His  creatures'  sorrows,  and  listens  to  the  faintest 
human  cry.  She  knelt,  as  she  had  been  taught  to 
kneel  from  her  childhood,  and  tried  to  pray.  But 
her  thoughts  refused  to  flow  in  the  language  of  sup 
plication.  She  could  not  plead  for  herself  as  other 
women  plead  in  their  hours  of  anguish.  She  rose  like 
one  who  should  stoop  to  drink,  and  find  dust  in  the 
place  of  water.  Partly  from  restlessness,  partly  from 
an  attraction  she  hardly  avowed  to  herself,  she  fol 
lowed  her  usual  habit  and  strolled  listlessly  along  to 
the  school. 

Of  course  everybody  at  the  Institute  was  full  of  the 
terrible  adventure  of  the  preceding  evening.  Mr. 
Bernard  felt  poorly  enough;  but  he  had  made  it  a 
point  to  show  himself  the  next  morning,  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  Helen  Darley  knew  nothing  of  it  all 
until  she  had  risen,  when  the  gossipy  matron  of  the 
establishment  made  her  acquainted  with  all  its  details, 
embellished  with  such  additional  ornamental  append 
ages  as  it  had  cauglit  up  in  transmission  from  lip  to 


ELSIE    VENNER.  389 

ip.     She  did  not  love  to  betray  her  sensibilities,  but 

ilie  was  pale  and  tremulous  and  very  nearly  tearful 
when  Mr.  Bernard  entered  the  sitting-room,  showing 

>n  his  features  traces  of  the  violent  shock  he  had  re 
ceived  and  the  heavy  slumber  from  which  he  had  risen 
:with  throbbing  brows.  What  the  poor  girl's  impulse 
;was,  on  seeing  him,  we  need  not  inquire  too  curiously. 

[f  he  had  been  her  own  brother,  she  would  have 
i kissed  him  and  cried  on  his  neck;  but  something  held 
iher  back.  There  is  no  galvanism  in  kiss-your-brother ; 
it  is  copper  against  copper :  but  alien  bloods  develop 
strange  currents,  when  they  flow  close  to  each  other, 
with  only  the  films  that  cover  lip  and  cheek  between 
them.  Mr.  Bernard,  as  some  of  us  may  remember, 
r  violated  the  proprieties  and  laid  himself  open  to  re 
proach  by  his  enterprise  with  a  bouncing  village-girl, 
to  whose  rosy  cheek  an  honest  smack  was  not  probably 
i  an  absolute  novelty.  He  made  it  all  up  by  his  discre 
tion  and  good  behavior  now.  He  saw  by  Helen's 
moist  eye  and  trembling  lip  that  her  woman's  heart 
was  off  its  guard,  and  he  knew,  by  the  infallible  in 
stinct  of  sex,  that  he  should  be  forgiven,  if  he  thanked 
her  for  her  sisterly  sympathies  in  the  most  natural 
way,  —  expressive,  and  at  the  same  time  economical 
of  breath  and  utterance.  He  would  not  give  a  false 
look  to  their  friendship  by  any  such  demonstration. 
Helen  was  a  little  older  than  himself,  but  the  aureole 
of  young  womanhood  had  not  yet  begun  to  fade  from 
around  her.  She  was  surrounded  by  that  enchanted 
atmosphere  into  which  the  girl  walks  with  dreamy 
eyes,  and  out  of  which  the  woman  passes  with  a  story 
written  on  her  forehead.  Some  people  think  very 
little  of  these  refinements ;  they  have  not  studied  mag 
netism  and  the  law  of  the  square  of  the  distance. 


890  ELSIE   VENNEE. 

So  Mr.  Bernard  thanked  Helen  for  her  interest 
without  the  aid  of  the  twenty-seventh  letter  of  the 
alphabet,  —  the  love  labial,  —  the  limping  consonant 
which  it  takes  two  to  speak  plain.  Indeed,  he 
scarcely  let  her  say  a  word,  at  first;  for  he  saw  that 
it  was  hard  for  her  to  conceal  her  emotion.  No  won 
der;  he  had  come  within  a  hair's-breadth  of  losing  his 
life,  and  he  had  been  a  very  kind  friend  and  a  very 
dear  companion  to  her. 

There  were  some  curious  spiritual  experiences  con 
nected  with  his  last  evening's  adventure  which  were 
working  very  strongly  in  his  mind.  It  was  borne  in 
upon  him  irresistibly  that  he  had  been  dead  since  he 
had  seen  Helen,  —  as  dead  as  the  son  of  the  Widow  of 
Nain  before  the  bier  was  touched  and  he  sat  up  and 
began  to  speak.  There  was  an  interval  between  two 
conscious  moments  which  appeared  to  him  like  a  tem 
porary  annihilation,  and  the  thoughts  it  suggested 
were  worrying  him  with  strange  perplexities. 

He  remembered  seeing  the  dark  figure  on  horseback 
rise  in  the  saddle  and  something  leap  from  its  hand. 
He  remembered  the  thrill  he  felt  as  the  coil  settled 
on  his  shoulders,  and  the  sudden  impulse  which  led 
him  to  fire  as  he  did.  With  the  report  of  the  pistol 
all  became  blank,  until  he  found  himself  in  a  strange, 
bewildered  state,  groping  about  for  the  weapon,  which 
he  had  a  vague  consciousness  of  having  dropped.  But, 
according  to  Abel's  account,  there  must  have  been  an 
interval  of  some  minutes  between  these  recollections, 
and  he  could  not  help  asking,  Where  was  the  mind, 
the  soul,  the  thinking  principle,  all  this  time  ? 

A  man  is  stunned  by  a  blow  with  a  stick  on  the 
head.  He  becomes  unconscious.  Another  man  gets  a 
harder  blow  on  the  head  from  a  bigger  stick,  and  it 


ELSIE   VENNER.  391 

kills  him.  Does  he  become  unconscious,  too?  If  so, 
i rli en  does  he  come  to  his  consciousness  ?  The  man  who 
has  had  a  slight  or  moderate  blow  comes  to  himself 
when  the  immediate  shock  passes  off  and  the  organs 
begin  to  work  again,  or  when  a  bit  of  the  skull  is 
pried  up,  if  that  happens  to  be  broken.  Suppose  the 
blow  is  hard  enough  to  spoil  the  brain  and  stop  the 
play  of  the  organs,  what  happens  then? 

A  British  captain  was  struck  by  a  cannon-ball  on 
the  head,  just  as  he  was  giving  an  order,  at  the  Bat 
tle  of  the  Nile.  Fifteen  months  afterwards  he  was  tre 
phined  at  Greenwich  Hospital,  having  been  insensible 
all  that  time.  Immediately  after  the  operation  his 
consciousness  returned,  and  he  at  once  began  carry 
ing  out  the  order  he  was  giving  when  the  shot  struck 
him.  Suppose  he  had  never  been  trephined,  when 
would  his  consciousness  have  returned?  When  his 
breath  ceased  and  his  heart  stopped  beating  ? 

When  Mr.  Bernard  said  to  Helen,  "I  have  been 
dead  since  I  saw  you,"  it  startled  her  not  a  little;  for 
his  expression  was  that  of  perfect  good  faith,  and  she 
feared  that  his  mind  was  disordered.  When  he  ex 
plained,  not  as  has  been  done  just  now,  at  length,  but 
in  a  hurried,  imperfect  way,  the  meaning  of  his  strange 
assertion,  and  the  fearful  Sadduceeisms  which  it  had 
suggested  to  his  mind,  she  looked  troubled  at  first,  and 
then  thoughtful.  She  did  not  feel  able  to  answer  all 
the  difficulties  he  raised,  but  she  met  them  with  that 
faith  which  is  the  strength  as  well  as  the  weakness  of 
women, — which  innkes  them  weak  in  the  hands  of 
man,  but  strong  in  the  presence  of  the  Unseen. 

"It  is  a  strange  experience,"  she  said;  "but  I  once 
had  something  like  it.  I  fainted,  and  lost  some  five  or 
ten  minutes  out  of  my  life,  as  much  as  if  I  had  been 


392  ELSIE   VENNER. 

dead.  But  when  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  the  same 
person  every  way,  in  my  recollections  and  character. 
So  I  suppose  that  loss  of  consciousness  is  not  death. 
And  if  I  was  born  out  of  unconsciousness  into  infancy 
with  many/amiYy-traits  of  mind  and  body,  I  can  be 
lieve,  from  my  own  reason,  even  without  help  from 
Revelation,  that  I  shall  be  born  again  out  of  the  un 
consciousness  of  death  with  my  individual  traits  of 
mind  and  body.  If  death  is,  as  it  should  seem  to  be, 
a  loss  of  consciousness,  that  does  not  shake  my  faith; 
for  I  have  been  put  into  a  body  once  already  to  fit  me 
for  living  here,  and  I  hope  to  be  in  some  way  fitted 
after  this  life  to  enjoy  a  better  one.  But  it  is  all 
trust  in  God  and  in  his  Word.  These  are  enough  for 
me;  I  hope  they  are  for  you." 

Helen  was  a  minister's  daughter,  and  familiar  from 
her  childhood  with  this  class  of  questions,  especially 
with  all  the  doubts  and  perplexities  which  are  sure  to 
assail  every  thinking  child  bred  in  any  inorganic  or  not 
thoroughly  vitalized  faith,  —  as  is  too  often  the  case 
with  the  children  of  professional  theologians.  The 
kind  of  discipline  they  are  subjected  to  is  like  that  of 
the  Flat-Head  Indian  pappooses.  At  five  or  ten  or 
fifteen  years  old  they  put  their  hands  up  to  their  fore 
heads  and  ask,  What  are  they  strapping  down  my 
brains  in  this  way  for  ?  So  they  tear  off  the  sacred 
bandages  of  the  great  Flat-Head  tribe,  and  there  fol 
lows  a  mighty  rush  of  blood  to  the  long-compressed 
region.  This  accounts,  in  the  most  lucid  manner,  for 
those  sudden  freaks  with  which  certain  children  of 
this  class  astonish  their  worthy  parents  at  the  period 
of  life  when  they  are  growing  fast,  and,  the  frontal 
pressure  beginning  to  be  felt  as  something  intolera 
ble,  they  tear  off  the  holy  compresses. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  393 

The  hour  for  school  came,  and  they  went  to  the 
great  hall  for  study.     It  would  not  have  occurred  to 
'  Mr.   Silas  Peckham  to  ask  his  assistant  whether  he 
felt  well  enough   to  attend   to  his  duties;  and   Mr. 
Bernard  chose  to  be  at  his  post.     A  little  headache 
and  confusion  were  all  that  remained  of  his  symptoms. 
Later,  in  the  course  of  the  forenoon,  Elsie  Vernier 
came  and  took  her  place.     The  girls  all  stared  at  her 
—  naturally  enough ;  for  it  was  hardly  to  have  been 
expected  that  she  would  show  herself,  after  such  an 
event  in  the  household  to  which  she  belonged.     Her 
expression  was  somewhat  peculiar,  and,  of  course,  was 
attributed  to  the  shock  her  feelings  had  undergone  on 
hearing  of  the  crime  attempted  by  her  cousin  and 
daily   companion.     When   she   was   looking   on   her 
t  book,  or  on  any  indifferent  object,  her  countenance 
I  betrayed  some  inward  disturbance,  which  knitted  her 
,  dark  brows,  and  seemed  to  throw  a  deeper  shadow 
over  her  features.     But,  from  time  to  time,  she  would 
lift  her  eyes  toward  Mr.  Bernard,  and  let  them  rest 
upon  him,  without  a  thought,  seemingly,  that  she  her 
self  was  the  subject  of  observation  or  remark.     Then 
they  seemed  to  lose  their  cold  glitter,  and  soften  into 
i   a  strange,  dreamy  tenderness.    ^The  deep  instincts  of 
womanhood  were  striving  to  grope  their  way  to  the 
:   surface  of  her  being  through  all  the  alien  influences 
;   which  overlaid  them.     She  could  be  secret  and  cun 
ning  in  working  out  any  of  her  dangerous  impulses, 
but  she  did  not  know  how  to  mask  the  unwonted  feel 
ing  which  fixed  her  eyes  and  her  thoughts  upon  the 
only  person  who  had  ever  reached  the  spring  of  her 
hidden  sympathies. 

The  girls  all  looked  at  Elsie,  whenever  they  could 
steal  a  glance  unperceived,  and  many  of  them  were 


394  ELSIE   VENNER. 

struck  with  this  singular  expression  her  features  wore. 
They  had  long  whispered  it  around  among  each  other 
that  she  had  a  liking  for  the  master;  but  there  were 
too  many  of  them  of  whom  something  like  this  could 
be  said,  to  make  it  very  remarkable.  Now,  however, 
when  so  many  little  hearts  were  fluttering  at  the 
thought  of  the  peril  through  which  the  handsome 
young  master  had  so  recently  passed,  they  were  more 
alive  than  ever  to  the  supposed  relation  between  him 
and  the  dark  school-girl.  Some  had  supposed  there 
was  a  mutual  attachment  between  them ;  there  was  a 
story  that  they  were  secretly  betrothed,  in  accordance 
with  the  rumor  which  had  been  current  in  the  village. 
At  any  rate,  some  conflict  was  going  on  in  that  still, 
remote,  clouded  soul,  and  all  the  girls  who  looked 
upon  her  face  were  impressed  and  awed  as  they  had 
never  been  before  by  the  shadows  that  passed  over  it. 
One  of  these  girls  was  more  strongly  arrested  by 
Elsie's  look  than  the  others.  This  was  a  delicate, 
pallid  creature,  with  a  high  forehead,  and  wide-open 
pupils,  which  looked  as  if  they  could  take  in  all  the 
shapes  that  flit  in  what,  to  common  eyes,  is  darkness, 
—  a  girl  said  to  be  clairvoyant  under  certain  influ 
ences.  In  the  recess,  as  it  was  called,  or  interval  of 
suspended  studies  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  this 
girl  carried  her  autograph-book,  —  for  she  had  one  of 
those  indispensable  appendages  of  the  boarding-school 
miss  of  every  degree,  —  and  asked  Elsie  to  write  her 
name  in  it.  She  had  an  irresistible  feeling,  that, 
sooner  or  later,  and  perhaps  very  soon,  there  would 
attach  an  unusual  interest  to  this  autograph.  Elsie 
took  the  pen  and  wrote,  in  her  sharp  Italian  hand, 

Elsie  Venner,  Infelix. 


INER.  395 

It  was  a  remembrance,  doubtless,  of  the  forlorn  queen 
of  the  "^neid";  but  its  coming  to  her  thought  in 
this  way  confirmed  the  sensitive  school-girl  in  her 
fears  for  Elsie,  and  she  let  fall  a  tear  upon  the  page 
before  she  closed  it. 

Of  course,  the  keen  and  practised  observation  of 
Helen  Daiiey  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  change  of 
Elsie's  manner  and  expression.  She  had  long  seen 
that  she  was  attracted  to  the  young  master,  and  had 
thought,  as  the  old  Doctor  did,  that  any  impression 
which  acted  upon  her  affections  might  be  the  means 
of  awakening  a  new  life  in  her  singularly  isolated  na 
ture.  Now,  however,  the  concentration  of  the  poor 
girl's  thoughts  upon  the  one  object  which  had  had 
power  to  reach  her  deeper  sensibilities  was  so  pain 
fully  revealed  in  her  features,  that  Helen  began  to 
fear  once  more,  lest  Mr.  Bernard,  in  escaping  the 
treacherous  violence  of  an  assassin,  had  been  left  to 
the  equally  dangerous  consequences  of  a  violent,  en 
grossing  passion  in  the  breast  of  a  young  creature 
whose  love  it  would  be  ruin  to  admit  and  might  be 
deadly  to  reject.  She  knew  her  own  heart  too  well 
to  fear  that  any  jealousy  might  mingle  with  her  new 
apprehensions.  It  was  understood  between  Bernard 
and  Helen  that  they  were  too  good  friends  to  tamper 
with  the  silences  and  edging  proximities  of  love-mak 
ing.  She  knew,  too,  the  simply  human,  not  mascu 
line,  interest  which  Mr.  Bernard  took  in  Elsie;  he 
had  been  frank  with  Helen,  and  more  than  satisfied 
her  that  with  all  the  pity  and  sympathy  which  over 
flowed  his  soul,  when  he  thought  of  the  stricken  girl, 
there  mingled  not  one  drop  of  such  love  as  a  youth 
may  feel  for  a  maiden. 

It  may  help  the  reader  to  gain  some  understanding 


396  ELSIE   VENNER. 

of  the  anomalous  nature  of  Elsie  Venner,  if  we  look 
with  Helen  into  Mr.  Bernard's  opinions  and  feelings 
with  reference  to  her,  as  they  had  shaped  themselves 
in  his  consciousness  at  the  period  of  which  we  are 
speaking. 

At  first  he  had  been  impressed  by  her  wild  beauty, 
and  the  contrast  of  all  her  looks  and  ways  with  those 
of  the  girls  around  her.  Presently  a  sense  of  some 
ill-defined  personal  element,  which  half -attracted  and 
half  repelled  those  who  looked  upon  her,  and  espe 
cially  those  on  whom  she  looked,  began  to  make  itself 
obvious  to  him,  as  he  soon  found  it  was  painfully  sen 
sible  to  his  more  susceptible  companion,  the  lady- 
teacher.  It  was  not  merely  in  the  cold  light  of  her 
diamond  eyes,  but  in  all  her  movements,  in  her  grace 
ful  postures  as  she  sat,  in  her  costume,  and,  he  some 
times  thought,  even  in  her  speech,  that  this  obscure 
and  exceptional  character  betrayed  itself.  When 
Helen  had  said,  that,  if  they  were  living  in  times 
when  human  beings  were  subject  to  possession,  she 
should  have  thought  there  was  something  not  human 
about  Elsie,  it  struck  an  unsuspected  vein  of  thought 
in  his  own  mind,  which  he  hated  to  put  in  words,  but 
which  was  continually  trying  to  articulate  itself  among 
the  dumb  thoughts  which  lie  under  the  perpetual 
stream  of  mental  whispers. 

Mr.  Bernard's  professional  training  had  made  him 
slow  to  accept  marvellous  stories  and  many  forms  of 
superstition.  Yet,  as  a  man  of  science,  he  well  knew 
that  just  on  the  verge  of  the  demonstrable  facts  of 
physics  and  physiology  there  is  a  nebulous  border-land 
which  what  is  called  "common  sense"  perhaps  does 
wisely  not  to  enter,  but  which  uncommon  sense,  or 
the  fine  apprehension  of  privileged  intelligences,  may 


ELSIE   VENNER. 

cautiously  explore,  and  in  so  doing  find  itse-f  !>ehind 
the  scenes  which  make  up  for  the  gazing  world  the 
show  which  is  called  Nature. 

It  was  with  something  of  this  finer  perception,  pei- 
haps  with  some  degree  of  imaginative  exaltation,  tha/t 
he  set  himself  to  solving  the  problem  of  Elsie's  in 
fluence  to  attract  and  repel  those  around  her.  His 
letter  already  submitted  to  the  reader  h'  in  -.vhat 
direction  his  thoughts  were  disposed  to  turn.  Here 
was  a  magnificent  organization,  supert  in  Vigorous 
womanhood,  with  a  beauty  such  as  nevi-r  comes  but 
after  generations  of  culture;  yet  throug  all  this  rich 
nature  there  ran  some  alien  current  of  influence,  sin 
uous  and  dark,  as  when  a  clouded  streak  seams  th0 
white  marble  of  a  perfect  statue. 

It  would  be  needless  to  repeat  the  particular  sug 
gestions  which  had  come  into  his  mind,  as  they  must 
probably  have  come  into  that  of  the  reader  who  ?ias 
noted  the  singularities  of  Elsie's  tastes  and  personal 
traits.  The  images  which  certain  poota  had  dreamed 
of  seemed  to  have  become  a*  reality  before  his  own 
eyes.  Then  came  that  unexplained  Adventure  of  The 
Mountain,  —  almost  like  a  dream  in  recollection,  yet 
assuredly  real  in  some  of  its  main  incidents, — with 
all  that  it  revealed  or  hinted.  This  girl  did  not  fear 
to  visit  the  dreaded  region,  where  danger  linked  in 
every  nook  and  beneath  every  of  leaves.  Did 

the  tenants  of  the  fatal  ledge  r-  cognize  aonv  myste 
rious  affinity  which  made  then>  tributary  to  *Jhe  cold 
glitter  of  her  diamond  eyes  ?  Was  she  from  her  birth 
one  of  those  frightful  childre?  -ueli  as  1  had  read 
about,  and  the  Professor  had  toid  him  <  .vho  form 
unnatural  friendships  with  cold,  writlurv  phidians? 
There  was  no  need  of  so  unwelcome  a  thought  as  this  i 


ELSIE  VENNER. 

id  drawn  him  away  from  the  dark  opening  in 
the  rock  a  the  moment  when  he  seemed  to  be  threat 
ened  by  one  of  its  malignant  denizens ;  that  was  all  he 
could  be  sure  of ;  the  counter -fascination  might  have 
been  a  dream,  a  fancy,  a  coincidence.  All  wonder- 
f  1  things  soon  grow  doubtful  in  our  own  minds,  as 
<-D.  common  events,  if  great  interests  prove  sud- 

i  to  their  truth  or  falsehood. 
ho  urn  telling  of  these  occurrences,  saw  a 
friend  in  the  Threat  city,  on  the  morning  of  a  most 
memorable   di-  ister,  hours  after  the  time  when  the 
train  whi  ied  its  victims  to  their  doom  had  left. 

I  talked  with  him,  and  was  for  some  minutes,  at  least, 
in  his  company.  When  I  reached  home,  I  found  that 
tin  hiul  goise  before  that  he  was  among  the  lost, 

and  I  alone  « ould  contradict  it  to  his  weeping  friends 
and  :  '.id  contradict  it ;  but,  alas !  I  began 

SOOL  to  doubt  mysolf,  penetrated  by  the  contagion  of 
their  solicit  uce;  my  recollection  began  to  question 
itself;  the  o:.  f  events  became  dislocated;  and 
when  I  heard  trxat  he  had  reached  home  in  safety,  the 
relief  was  ah:  great  to  me  as  to  those  who  had 

expect  iwn  brother's  face  no  more. 

Mr.  Bernard  vas  disposed,  then,  not  to  accept  the 
thoughi  dioui  oersonal  relationship  of  the  kind 

which  h  tself  to  him  when  he  wrote  the 

letter  referred  to.  That  the  girl  had  something  of  the 
feral  na  ;  .  '.  lier  ^  lawless  rambles  in  forbidden 
and  blast  'he  Mountain  at  all  hours,  her 

familiarit  >  th  L.e  1-  '  ely  haunts  where  any  other 
human  foot  was  aorarr  i  seen,  proved  clearly  enough. 
But  the  m  he  tionp  of  all  her  strange  instincts 
and  modes  more  he  became  convinced 

that  whate     r  all   i  imp     ?e  swayed  her  will  and  mod- 


ELSIE   VENNEK.  399 

ilated  or  diverted  or  displaced  her  affections  came 
rom  some  impression  that  reached  far  back  into  the 
>ast,  before  the  days  when  the  faithful  Old  Sophy  had 
•ocked  her  in  the  cradle.  He  believed  that  she  had 
)rought  her  ruling  tendency,  whatever  it  was,  into 
i;he  world  with  her. 

When  the  school  was  over  and  the  girls  had  all 
*one,  Helen  lingered  in  the  schoolroom  to  speak  with 
Mr.  Bernard. 

"Did  you  remark  Elsie's  ways  this  forenoon?"  she 
said. 

"No,  not  particularly;  I  have  not  noticed  anything 
as  sharply  as  I  commonly  do;  my  head  has  been  a 
little  queer,  and  I  have  been  thinking  over  what  we 
were  talking  about,  and  how  near  I  came  to  solving 
the  great  problem  which  every  day  makes  clear  to  such 
multitudes  of  people.  What  about  Elsie?  " 

"Bernard,  her  liking  for  you  is  growing  into  a  pas 
sion.  I  have  studied  girls  for  a  long  while,  and  I 
know  the  difference  between  their  passing  fancies  and 
their  real  emotions.  I  told  you,  you  remember,  that 
Rosa  would  have  to  leave  us;  we  barely  missed  a 
scene,  I  think,  if  not  a  whole  tragedy,  by  her  going 
at  the  right  moment.  But  Elsie  is  infinitely  more 
dangerous  to  herself  and  others.  Women's  love  is 
fierce  enough,  if  it  once  gets  the  mastery  of  them, 
always ;  but  this  poor  girl  does  not  know  what  to  do 
with  a  passion." 

Mr.  Bernard  had  never  told  Helen  the  story  of  the 
flower  in  his  Yirgil,  or  that  other  adventure  which  he 
would  have  felt  awkwardly  to  refer  to;  but  it  had 
been  perfectly  understood  between  them  that  Elsie 
showed  in  her  own  singular  way  a  well-marked  par 
tiality  for  the  young  master. 


400  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"Why  don't  they  take  her  away  from  the  school,  if 
she  is  in  such  a  strange,  excitable  state?  "  said  Mr. 
Bernard. 

"I  believe  they  are  afraid  of  her,"  Helen  answered. 
"It  is  just  one  of  those  cases  that  are  ten  thousand 
thousand  times  worse  than  insanity.  I  don't  think, 
from  what  I  hear,  that  her  father  has  ever  given  up 
hoping  that  she  will  outgrow  her  peculiarities.  Oh, 
these  peculiar  children  for  whom  parents  go  on  hoping 
every  morning  and  despairing  every  night !  If  I  could 
tell  you  half  that  mothers  have  told  me,  you  would 
feel  that  the  worst  of  all  diseases  of  the  moral  sense 
and  the  will  are  those  which  all  the  Bedlams  turn 
away  from  their  doors  as  not  being  cases  of  insanity !  " 
"Do  you  think  her  father  has  treated  her  judi 
ciously?"  said  Mr.  Bernard. 

"I  think,"  said  Helen,  with  a  little  hesitation, 
which  Mr.  Bernard  did  not  happen  to  notice,  —  "I 
think  he  has  been  very  kind  and  indulgent,  and  I  do 
not  know  that  he  could  have  treated  her  otherwise 
with  a  better  chance  of  success." 

"He  must  of  course  be  fond  of  her,"  Mr.  Bernard 
said;  "there  is  nothing  else  in  the  world  for  him  to 
love." 

Helen  dropped  a  book  she  held  in  her  hand,  and, 
stooping  to  pick  it  up,  the  blood  rushed  into  her 
cheeks. 

"It  is  getting  late,"  she  said;  "you  must  not  stay 
any  longer  in  this  close  schoolroom.  Pray,  go  and 
get  a  little  fresh  air  before  dinner-time." 


CHAPTEE  XXVH. 

A   SOUL   IN   DISTRESS. 

THE  events  told  in  the  last  two  chapters  had  taken 
place  toward  the  close  of  the  week.  On  Saturday 
evening  the  Reverend  Chauncy  Fairweather  received  a 
note  which  was  left  at  his  door  by  an  unknown  person 
who  departed  without  saying  a  word.  Its  words  were 
these :  — 

"  One  who  is  in  distress  of  mind  requests  the  prayers 
of  this  congregation  that  God  would  be  pleased  to 
look  in  mercy  upon  the  soul  that  he  has  afflicted." 

There  was  nothing  to  show  from  whom  the  note 
came,  or  the  sex  or  age  or  special  source  of  spiritual 
discomfort  or  anxiety  of  the  writer.  The  handwrit 
ing  was  delicate  and  might  well  be  a  woman's.  The 
clergyman  was  not  aware  of  any  particular  affliction 
among  his  parishioners  which  was  likely  to  be  made 
the  subject  of  a  request  of  this  kind.  Surely  neither 
of  the  Venners  would  advertise  the  attempted  crime 
of  their  relative  in  this  way.  But  who  else  was  there  ? 
The  more  he  thought  about  it,  the  more  it  puzzled 
him,  and  as  he  did  not  like  to  pray  in  the  dark,  with 
out  knowing  for  whom  he  was  praying,  he  could  think 
of  nothing  better  than  to  step  into  old  Doctor  Kit- 
tredge's  and  see  what  he  had  to  say  about  it. 

The  old  Doctor  was  sitting  alone  in  his  study  when 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Fairweather  was  ushered  in.  He 
received  his  visitor  very  pleasantly,  expecting,  as  a 


402  ELSIE   VENNER. 

matter  of  course,  that  he  would  begin  with  some  new 
grievance,  dyspeptic,  neuralgic,  bronchitic,  or  other. 
The  minister,  however,  began  with  questioning  the 
old  Doctor  about  the  sequel  of  the  other  night's  ad 
venture  ;  for  he  was  already  getting  a  little  Jesuitical, 
and  kept  back  the  object  of  his  visit  until  it  should 
come  up  as  if  accidentally  in  the  course  of  conversa 
tion. 

"  It  was  a  pretty  bold  thing  to  go  off  alone  with 
that  reprobate,  as  you  did,"  said  the  minister. 

"I  don't  know  what  there  was  bold  about  it,"  the 
Doctor  answered.  "  All  he  wanted  was  to  get  away. 
He  was  not  quite  a  reprobate,  you  see;  he  didn't  like 
the  thought  of  disgracing  his  family  or  facing  his  uncle. 
I  think  he  was  ashamed  to  see  his  cousin,  too,  after 
what  he  had  done." 

"Did  he  talk  with  you  on  the  way?  " 

"Not  much.  For  half  an  hour  or  so  he  didn't 
speak  a  word.  Then  he  asked  where  I  was  driving 
him.  I  told  him,  and  he  seemed  to  be  surprised  into 
a  sort  of  grateful  feeling.  Bad  enough,  no  doubt, — 
but  might  be  worse.  Has  some  humanity  left  in  him 
yet.  Let  him  go.  God  can  judge  him,  — I  can't." 

"You  are  too  charitable,  Doctor,"  the  minister 
said.  "I  condemn  him  just  as  if  he  had  carried  out 
his  project,  which,  they  say,  was  to  make  it  appear  as 
if  the  schoolmaster  had  committed  suicide.  That's 
what  people  think  the  rope  found  by  him  was  for. 
He  has  saved  his  neck,  —  but  his  soul  is  a  losft  one,  I 
am  afraid,  beyond  question." 

"I  can't  judge  men's  souls,"  the  Doctor  said.  "I 
can  judge  their  acts,  and  hold  them  responsible  for 
those, — but  I  don't  know  much  about  their  souls. 
If  you  or  I  had  found  our  soul  in  a  half-breed  body, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  403 

and  been  turned  loose  to  run  among  the  Indians,  we 
might  have  been  playing  just  such  tricks  as  this  fellow 
has  been  trying.  What  if  you  or  I  had  inherited  all 
the  tendencies  that  were  born  with  his  cousin  Elsie?" 

"Oh,  that  reminds  me,"  —the  minister  said,  in  a 
sudden  way,  —  "I  have  received  a  note,  which  I  am 
requested  to  read  from  the  pulpit  to-morrow.  I  wish 
you  would  just  have  the  kindness  to  look  at  it  and  see 
where  you  think  it  came  from." 

The  Doctor  examined  it  carefully.  It  was  a 
woman's  or  girl's  note,  he  thought.  Might  come  from 
one  of  the  school-girls  who  was  anxious  about  her 
spiritual  condition.  Handwriting  was  disguised; 
looked  a  little  like  Elsie  Venner's,  but  not  character 
istic  enough  to  make  it  certain.  It  would  be  a  new 
thing,  if  she  had  asked  public  prayers  for  herself,  and 
a  very  favorable  indication  of  a  change  in  her  singular 
moral  nature.  It  was  just  possible  Elsie  might  have 
sent  that  note.  Nobody  could  foretell  her  actions. 
It  would  be  well  to  see  the  girl  and  find  out  whether 
any  unusual  impression  had  been  produced  on  her 
mind  by  the  recent  occurrence  or  by  any  other  cause. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Fairweather  folded  the  note  and 
put  it  into  his  pocket. 

"  I  have  been  a  good  deal  exercised  in  mind  lately, 
myself,"  he  said. 

The  old  Doctor  looked  at  him  through  his  specta 
cles,  and  said,  in  his  usual  professional  tone,  — 

"Put  out  your  tongue." 

The  minister  obeyed  him  in  that  feeble  way  common 
with  persons  of  weak  character,  —  for  people  differ  as 
much  in  their  mode  of  performing  this  trifling  act  as 
Gideon's  soldiers  in  their  way  of  drinking  at  the 
brook.  The  Doctor  took  his  hand  and  placed  a  finger 
mechanically  on  his  wrist. 


404  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"It  is  more  spiritual,  I  think,  than  bodily,"  said 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Fairweather. 

"Is  your  appetite  as  good  as  usual?"  the  Doctor 
asked. 

"Pretty  good,"  the  minister  answered;  "but  my 
sleep,  my  sleep,  Doctor,  —  I  am  greatly  troubled  at 
night  with  lying  awake  and  thinking  of  my  future,  — 
I  am  not  at  ease  in  mind." 

He  looked  round  at  all  the  doors,  to  be  sure  they 
were  shut,  and  moved  his  chair  up  close  to  the  Doc 
tor's. 

"  You  do  not  know  the  mental  trials  I  have  been 
going  through  for  the  last  few  months." 

"I  think  I  do,"  the  old  Doctor  said.  "You  want 
to  get  out  of  the  new  church  into  the  old  one,  don't 
you?" 

The  minister  blushed  deeply;  he  thought  he  had 
been  going  on  in  a  very  quiet  way,  and  that  nobody 
suspected  his  secret.  As  the  old  Doctor  was  his  coun 
sellor  in  sickness,  and  almost  everybody's  confidant  in 
trouble,  he  had  intended  to  impart  cautiously  to  him 
some  hints  of  the  change  of  sentiments  through  which 
he  had  been  passing.  He  was  too  late  with  his  in 
formation,  it  appeared,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  throw  himself  on  the  Doctor's  good  sense 
and  kindness,  which  everybody  knew,  and  get  what 
hints  he  could  from  him  as  to  the  practical  course  he 
should  pursue.  He  began,  after  an  awkward  pause,  — 

"You  would  not  have  me  stay  in  a  communion 
which  I  feel  to  be  alien  to  the  true  church,  would 
you?" 

"Have  you  stay,  my  friend?  "  said  the  Doctor,  with 
a  pleasant,  friendly  look,  — -  "have  you  stay?     Not 
month,  nor  a  week,  nor  a  day,  if  I  could  help  it.    You 


ELSIE   VENNER.  405 

have  got  into  the  wrong  pulpit,  and  I  have  known  it 
from  the  first.     The  sooner  you  go  where  you  belong, 
!'   the  better.     And  I  'm  very  glad  you  don't  mean  to 
stop  half-way.     Don't  you  know  you  've  always  come 
I    to  me  when  you  've  been  dyspeptic  or  sick  anyhow, 
I    and  wanted  to  put  yourself  wholly  into  my  hands,  so 
t    that  I  might  order  you  like  a  child  just  what  to  do  and 
'    what  to  take?     That  's  exactly  what  you  want  in  reli- 
i    gion.     I  don't  blame  you  for  it.     You  never  liked  to 
i    take  the  responsibility  of  your  own  body;  I  don't  see 
why  you  should  want  to  have  the  charge  of  your  own 
soul.     But  I  'm  glad  you  're  going  to  the  Old  Mother 
of  all.     You  would  n't  have  been  contented  short  of 
that." 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Fairweather  breathed  with  more 
freedom.  The  Doctor  saw  into  his  soul  through  those 
awful  spectacles  of  his,  —  into  it  and  beyond  it,  as  one 
sees  through  a  thin  fog.  But  it  was  with  a  real 
human  kindness,  after  all.  He  felt  like  a  child  before 
a  strong  man ;  but  the  strong  man  looked  on  him  with 
a  father's  indulgence.  Many  and  many  a  time,  when 
he  had  come  desponding  and  bemoaning  himself  on 
account  of  some  contemptible  bodily  infirmity,  the  old 
Doctor  had  looked  at  him  through  his  spectacles,  lis 
tened  patiently  while  he  told  his  ailments,  and  then, 
in  his  large  parental  way,  given  him  a  few  words  of 
wholesome  advice,  and  cheered  him  up  so  that  he  went 
off  with  a  light  heart,  thinking  that  the  heaven  he  was 
so  much  afraid  of  was  not  so  very  near,  after  all.  It 
was  the  same  thing  now.  He  felt,  as  feeble  natures 
always  do  in  the  presence  of  strong  ones,  overmas 
tered,  circumscribed,  shut  in,  humbled;  but  yet  it 
seemed  as  if  the  old  Doctor  did  not  despise  him  any 
more  for  what  he  considered  weakness  of  mind  than 


406  ELSIE    VENNER. 

he  used  to  despise  him  when  he  complained  of  his 
nerves  or  his  digestion. 

Men  who  see  into  their  neighbors  are  very  apt  to  be 
contemptuous;  but  men  who  see  through  them  find 
something  lying  behind  every  human  soul  which  it  is 
not  for  them  to  sit  in  judgment  on,  or  to  attempt  to 
sneer  out  of  the  order  of  God's  manifold  universe. 

Little  as  the  Doctor  had  said  out  of  which  comfort 
could  be  extracted,  his  genial  manner  had  something 
grateful  in  it.  A  film  of  gratitude  came  over  the 
poor  man's  cloudy,  uncertain  eye,  and  a  look  of  trem 
ulous  relief  and  satisfaction  played  about  his  weak 
mouth.  He  was  gravitating  to  the  majority,  where 
he  hoped  to  find  "rest";  but  he  was  dreadfully  sen 
sitive  to  the  opinions  of  the  minority  he  was  on  the 
point  of  leaving. 

The  old  Doctor  saw  plainly  enough  what  was  going 
on  in  his  mind. 

"I  sha'n't  quarrel  with  you,"  he  said,  —  "you 
know  that  very  well;  but  you  mustn't  quarrel  with 
me,  if  I  talk  honestly  with  you;  it  isn't  everybody 
that  will  take  the  trouble.  You  flatter  yourself  that 
you  will  make  a  good  many  enemies  by  leaving  your 
old  communion.  Not  so  many  as  you  think.  This  is 
the  way  the  common  sort  of  people  will  talk :  — '  You 
have  got  your  ticket  to  the  feast  of  life,  as  much  as 
any  other  man  that  ever  lived.  Protestantism  says, 
—  "Help  yourself;  here  's  a  clean  plate,  and  a  knife 
and  fork  of  your  own,  and  plenty  of  fresh  dishes  to 
choose  from."  The  Old  Mother  says,  —  "Give  me 
your  ticket,  my  dear,  and  I  '11  feed  you  with  my  gold 
spoon  off  these  beautiful  old  wooden  trenchers.  Such 
nice  bits  as  those  good  old  gentlemen  have  left  for 
you  I "  There  is  no  quarrelling  with  a  man  who  pre- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  407 

fers  broken  victuals. '  That 's  what  the  rougher  sort 
will  say ;  and  then,  where  one  scolds,  ten  will  laugh. 
But,  mind  you,  I  don't  either  scold  or  laugh.  I  don't 
feel  sure  that  you  could  very  well  have  helped  doing 
what  you  will  soon  do.  You  know  you  were  never 
easy  without  some  medicine  to  take  when  you  felt  ill 
in  body.  I  'm  afraid  I  've  given  you  trashy  stuff 
sometimes,  just  to  keep  you  quiet.  Now,  let  me  tell 
you,  there  is  just  the  same  difference  in  spiritual 
patients  that  there  is  in  bodily  ones.  One  set  believes 
in  wholesome  ways  of  living,  and  another  must  have 
a  great  list  of  specifics  for  all  the  soul's  complaints. 
You  belong  with  the  last,  and  got  accidentally  shuffled 
in  with  the  others/' 

The  minister  smiled  faintly,  but  did  not  reply.  Of 
course,  he  considered  that  way  of  talking  as  the  result 
of  the  Doctor's  professional  training.  It  would  not 
have  been  worth  while  to  take  offence  at  his  plain 
speech,  if  he  had  been  so  disposed ;  for  he  might  wish 
to  consult  him  the  next  day  as  to  "what  he  should 
take"  for  his  dyspepsia  or  his  neuralgia. 

He  left  the  Doctor  with  a  hollow  feeling  at  the  bot 
tom  of  his  soul,  as  if  a  good  piece  of  his  manhood  had 
been  scooped  out  of  him.  His  hollow  aching  did  not 
explain  itself  in  words,  but  it  grumbled  and  worried 
down  among  the  unshaped  thoughts  which  lie  beneath 
them.  He  knew  that  he  had  been  trying  to  reason 
himself  out  of  his  birthright  of  reason.  He  knew  that 
the  inspiration  which  gave  him  understanding  was 
losing  its  throne  in  his  intelligence,  and  the  almighty 
Majority- Vote  was  proclaiming  itself  in  its  stead. 
He  knew  that  the  great  primal  truths,  which  each  suc 
cessive  revelation  only  confirmed,  were  fast  becoming 
hidden  beneath  the  mechanical  forms  of  thought. 


408  ELSIE  VENNER. 

which,  as  with  all  new  converts,  engrossed  so  large  a 
share  of  his  attention.  The  "peace,"  the  "rest," 
which  he  had  purchased  were  dearly  bought  to  one 
who  had  been  trained  to  the  arms  of  thought,  and 
whose  noble  privilege  it  might  have  been  to  live  in 
perpetual  warfare  for  the  advancing  truth  which  the 
next  generation  will  claim  as  the  legacy  of  the  pres 
ent. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Fairweather  was  getting  careless 
about  his  sermons.  He  must  wait  the  fitting  moment 
to  declare  himself;  and  in  the  mean  tune  he  was 
preaching  to  heretics.  It  did  not  matter  much  what 
he  preached,  under  such  circumstances.  He  pulled 
out  two  old  yellow  sermons  from  a  heap  of  such,  and 
began  looking  over  that  for  the  forenoon.  Naturally 
enough,  he  fell  asleep  over  it,  and,  sleeping,  he  began 
to  dream. 

He  dreamed  that  he  was  under  the  high  arches  of 
an  old  cathedral,  amidst  a  throng  of  worshippers. 
The  light  streamed  in  through  vast  windows,  dark 
with  the  purple  robes  of  royal  saints,  or  blazing  with 
yellow  glories  around  the  heads  of  earthly  martyrs  and 
heavenly  messengers.  The  billows  of  the  great  organ 
roared  among  the  clustered  columns,  as  the  sea  breaks 
amidst  the  basaltic  pillars  which  crowd  the  stormy  cav 
ern  of  the  Hebrides.  The  voice  of  the  alternate 
choirs  of  singing  boys  swung  back  and  forward,  as 
the  silver  censer  swung  in  the  hands  of  the  white- 
robed  children.  The  sweet  cloud  of  incense  rose  in 
soft,  fleecy  mists,  full  of  penetrating  suggestions  of  the 
East  and  its  perfumed  altars.  The  knees  of  twenty 
generations  had  worn  the  pavement;  their  feet  had 
hollowed  the  steps ;  their  shoulders  had  smoothed  the 
columns.  Dead  bishops  and  abbots  lay  under  the 


ELSIE   TENNER.  409 

marble  of  the  floor  in  their  crumbled  vestments;  dead 
warriors,  in  rusted  armor,  were  stretched  beneath 
their  sculptured  effigies.  And  all  at  once  all  the  bur 
ied  multitudes  who  had  ever  worshipped  there  came 
thronging  in  through  the  aisles.  They  choked  every 
space,  they  swarmed  into  all  the  chapels,  they  hung  in 
clusters  over  the  parapets  of  the  galleries,  they  clung 
to  the  images  in  every  niche,  and  still  the  vast  throng 
kept  flowing  and  flowing  in,  until  the  living  were  lost 
in  the  rush  of  the  returning  dead  who  had  reclaimed 
their  own.  Then,  as  his  dream  became  more  fantas 
tic,  the  huge  cathedral  itself  seemed  to  change  into 
the  wreck  of  some  mighty  antediluvian  vertebrate; 
its  flying-buttresses  arched  round  like  ribs,  its  piers 
shaped  themselves  into  limbs,  and  the  sound  of  the 
organ-blast  changed  to  the  wind  whistling  through  its 
thousand- jointed  skeleton. 

And  presently  the  sound  lulled,  and  softened  and 
softened,  until  it  was  as  the  murmur  of  a  distant 
swarm  of  bees.  A  procession  of  monks  wound  along 
through  an  old  street,  chanting,  as  they  walked.  In 
his  dream  he  glided  in  among  them  and  bore  his  part 
in  the  burden  of  their  song.  He  entered  with  the 
long  train  under  a  low  arch,  and  presently  he  was 
kneeling  in  a  narrow  cell  before  an  image  of  the 
Blessed  Maiden  holding  the  Divine  Child  in  her  arms, 
and  his  lips  seemed  to  whisper,  — 

Sancta  Maria,  ora  pro  nobis  ! 

He  turned  to  the  crucifix,  and,  prostrating  himself 
before  the  spare,  agonizing  shape  of  the  Holy  Suf 
ferer,  fell  into  a  long  passion  of  tears  and  broken 
prayers.  He  rose  and  flung  himself,  worn-out,  upon 
his  hard  pallet,  and,  seeming  to  slumber,  dreamed 


410  ELSIE   VENNER. 

again  within  his  dream.  Once  more  in  the  vast  cathe 
dral,  with  throngs  of  the  living  choking  its  aisles, 
amidst  jubilant  peals  from  the  cavernous  depths  of 
the  great  organ,  and  choral  melodies  ringing  from 
the  fluty  throats  of  the  singing  boys.  A  day  of  great 
rejoicings,  —  for  a  prelate  was  to  be  consecrated,  and 
the  bones  of  the  mighty  skeleton -minster  were  shaking 
with  anthems,  as  if  there  were  life  of  its  own  within 
its  buttressed  ribs.  He  looked  down  at  his  feet ;  the 
folds  of  the  sacred  robe  were  flowing  about  them :  he 
put  his  hand  to  his  head;  it  was  crowned  with  the 
holy  mitre.  A  long  sigh,  as  of  perfect  content  in 
the  consummation  of  all  his  earthly  hopes,  breathed 
through  the  dreamer's  lips,  and  shaped  itself,  as  it 
escaped,  into  the  blissful  murmur,  — 

Ego  sum  Episcopus  I 

One  grinning  gargoyle  looked  in  from  beneath  the 
roof  through  an  opening  in  a  stained  window.  It  was 
the  face  of  a  mocking  fiend,  such  as  the  old  builders 
loved  to  place  under  the  eaves  to  spout  the  rain 
through  their  open  mouths.  It  looked  at  him,  as  he 
sat  in  his  mitred  chair,  with  its  hideous  grin  growing 
broader  and  broader,  until  it  laughed  out  aloud,  — 
such  a  hard,  stony,  mocking  laugh,  that  he  awoke  out 
of  his  second  dream  through  his  first  into  his  common 
consciousness,  and  shivered,  as  he  turned  to  the  two 
yellow  sermons  which  he  was  to  pick  over  and  weed 
of  the  little  thought  they  might  contain,  for  the  next 
day's  service. 

The  Reverend  Chauncy  Fairweather  was  too  much 
taken  up  with  his  own  bodily  and  spiritual  condi 
tion  to  be  deeply  mindful  of  others.  He  carried  the 
note  requesting  the  prayers  of  the  congregation  in 


ELSIE   VENNER.  411 

his  pocket  all  day ;  and  the  soul  in  distress,  which  a 
single  tender  petition  might  have  soothed,  and  per 
haps  have  saved  from  despair  or  fatal  error,  found 
no  voice  in  the  temple  to  plead  for  it  before  the 
Throne  of  Mercy  t 


CHAPTER  XXVin. 

THE   SECRET   IS   WHISPERED. 

THE  Reverend  Chauncy  Fairweather's  congregation 
was  not  large,  but  select.  The  lines  of  social  cleavage 
run  through  religious  creeds  as  if  they  were  of  a  piece 
with  position  and  fortune.  It  is  expected  of  persons 
of  a  certain  breeding,  in  some  parts  of  New  England, 
that  they  shall  be  either  Episcopalians  or  Unitarians. 
The  mansion-house  gentry  of  Rockland  were  pretty 
fairly  divided  between  the  little  chapel,  with  the 
stained  window  and  the  trained  rector,  and  the  meet 
ing-house  where  the  Reverend  Mr.  Fair  weather  offi 
ciated. 

It  was  in  the  latter  that  Dudley  Venner  wor 
shipped,  when  he  attended  service  anywhere,  —  which 
depended  very  much  on  the  caprice  of  Elsie.  He  saw 
plainly  enough  that  a  generous  and  liberally  cultivated 
nature  might  find  a  refuge  and  congenial  souls  in 
either  of  these  two  persuasions,  but  he  objected  to 
some  points  of  the  formal  creed  of  the  older  church, 
and  especially  to  the  mechanism  which  renders  it  hard 
to  get  free  from  its  outworn  and  offensive  formulae, 
—  remembering  how  Archbishop  Tillotson  wished  in 
vain  that  it  could  be  "well  rid  of"  the  Athanasian 
Creed.  This,  and  the  fact  that  the  meeting-house  was 
nearer  than  the  chapel,  determined  him,  when  the  new 
rector,  who  was  not  quite  up  to  his  mark  in  education, 
was  appointed,  to  take  a  pew  in  the  "liberal"  wor 
shippers'  edifice. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  413 

Elsie  was  very  uncertain  in  her  feeling  about  going 
to  church.  In  summer,  she  loved  rather  to  stroll  over 
The  Mountain,  on  Sundays.  There  was  even  a  story, 
that  she  had  one  of  the  caves  before  mentioned  fitted 
up  as  an  oratory,  and  that  she  had  her  own  wild  way 
of  worshipping  the  God  whom  she  sought  in  the  dark 
chasms  of  the  dreaded  cliffs.  Mere  fables,  doubtless ; 
but  they  showed  the  common  belief,  that  Elsie,  with 
all  her  strange  and  dangerous  elements  of  character, 
had  yet  strong  religious  feeling  mingled  with  them. 
The  hymn-book  which  Dick  had  found,  in  his  midnight 
invasion  of  her  chamber,  opened  to  favorite  hymns, 
especially  some  of  the  Methodist  and  Quietist  charac- 
t~r.  Many  had  noticed,  that  certain  tunes,  as  sung 
by  the  choir,  seemed  to  impress  her  deeply ;  and  some 
said,  that  at  such  times  her  whole  expression  would 
change,  and  her  stormy  look  would  soften  so  as  to  re 
mind  them  of  her  poor,  sweet  mother. 

On  the  Sunday  morning  after  the  talk  recorded  in 
the  last  chapter,  Elsie  made  herself  ready  to  go  to 
meeting.  She  was  dressed  much  as  usual,  excepting 
that  she  wore  a  thick  veil,  turned  aside,  but  ready  to 
conceal  her  features.  It  was  natural  enough  that  she 
should  not  wish  to  be  looked  in  the  face  by  curious 
persons  who  would  be  staring  to  see  what  effect  the 
occurrence  of  the  past  week  had  had  on  her  spirits. 
Her  father  attended  her  willingly;  and  they  took 
their  seats  in  the  pew,  somewhat  to  the  surprise  of 
many,  who  had  hardly  expected  to  see  them,  after  so 
humiliating  a  family  development  as  the  attempted 
crime  of  their  kinsman  had  just  been  furnishing  for 
the  astonishment  of  the  public. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Fairweather  was  now  in  his  cold 
est  mood.  He  had  passed  through  the  period  of  fever- 


414  ELSIE  VENNER. 

ish  excitement  which  marks  a  change  of  religious  opin 
ion.  At  first,  when  he  had  begun  to  doubt  his  own 
theological  positions,  he  had  defended  them  against 
himself  with  more  ingenuity  and  interest,  perhaps, 
than  he  could  have  done  against  another;  because 
men  rarely  take  the  trouble  to  understand  anybody's 
difficulties  in  a  question  but  their  own.  After  this, 
as  he  began  to  draw  off  from  different  points  of  his 
old  belief,  the  cautious  disentangling  of  himself  from 
one  mesh  after  another  gave  sharpness  to  his  intellect, 
and  the  tremulous  eagerness  with  which  he  seized  upon 
the  doctrine  which,  piece  by  piece,  under  various  pre 
texts  and  with  various  disguises,  he  was  appropriat 
ing,  gave  interest  and  something  like  passion  to  his 
words.  But  when  he  had  gradually  accustomed  his 
people  to  his  new  phraseology,  and  was  really  adjust 
ing  his  sermons  and  his  service  to  disguise  his 
thoughts,  he  lost  at  once  all  his  intellectual  acuteness 
and  all  his  spiritual  fervor. 

Elsie  sat  quietly  through  the  first  part  of  the  ser 
vice,  which  was  conducted  in  the  cold,  mechanical 
way  to  be  expected.  Her  face  was  hidden  by  her 
veil ;  but  her  father  knew  her  state  of  feeling,  as  well 
by  her  movements  and  attitudes  as  by  the  expression 
of  her  features.  The  hymn  had  been  sung,  the  short 
prayer  offered,  the  Bible  read,  and  the  long  prayer 
was  about  to  begin.  This  was  the  time  at  which  the 
"notes"  of  any  who  were  in  affliction  from  loss  of 
friends,  the  sick  who  were  doubtful  of  recovery,  those 
who  had  cause  to  be  grateful  for  preservation  of  life 
or  other  signal  blessing,  were  wont  to  be  read. 

Just  then  it  was  that  Dudley  Venner  noticed  that 
his  daughter  was  trembling,  —  a  thing  so  rare,  so  un 
accountable,  indeed,  under  the  circumstances,  that  he 


ELSIE  VENNER.  415 

watched  her  closely,  and  began  to  fear  that  some  ner 
vous  paroxysm,  or  other  malady,  might  have  just 
begun  to  show  itself  in  this  way  upon  her. 

The  minister  had  in  his  pocket  two  notes.  One, 
in  the  handwriting  of  Deacon  Soper,  was  from  a 
member  of  this  congregation,  returning  thanks  for  his 
preservation  through  a  season  of  great  peril,  —  sup 
posed  to  be  the  exposure  which  he  had  shared  with 
others,  when  standing  in  the  circle  around  Dick  Ven- 
ner.  The  other  was  the  anonymous  one,  in  a  female 
hand,  which  he  had  received  the  evening  before.  He 
forgot  them  both.  His  thoughts  were  altogether  too 
much  taken  up  with  more  important  matters.  He 
prayed  through  all  the  frozen  petitions  of  his  expur 
gated  form  of  supplication,  and  not  a  single  heart  was 
soothed  or  lifted,  or  reminded  that  its  sorrows  were 
struggling  their  way  up  to  heaven,  borne  on  the  breath 
from  a  human  soul  that  was  warm  with  love. 

The  people  sat  down  as  if  relieved  when  the  dreary 
prayer  was  finished.  Elsie  alone  remained  standing 
until  her  father  touched  her.  Then  she  sat  down, 
lifted  her  veil,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  blank,  sad 
look,  as  if  she  had  suffered  some  pain  or  wrong,  but 
could  not  give  any  name  or  expression  to  her  vague 
trouble.  She  did  not  tremble  any  longer,  but  re 
mained  ominously  still,  as  if  she  had  been  frozen 
where  she  sat. 

—  Can  a  man  love  his  own  soul  too  well?  Who, 
on  the  whole,  constitute  the  nobler  class  of  human 
beings?  those  who  have  lived  mainly  to  make  sure  of 
their  own  personal  welfare  in  another  and  future  con 
dition  of  existence,  or  they  who  have  worked  with  ail 
their  might  for  their  race,  for  their  country,  for  the 
advancement  of  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  left  all  per- 


416  ELSIE   VENNER. 

soual  arrangements  concerning  themselves  to  the  sole 

charge  of  Him  who  made  them  and  is  responsible  to 

himself  for  their  saf e -keeping  ?     Is  an  anchorite  who 

has  worn  the  stone  floor  of  his  cell  into  basins  with 

his  knees  bent  in  prayer,  more  acceptable  than  the 

soldier  who  gives  his  life  for  the  maintenance  of  any 

sacred  right  or  truth,  without  thinking  what  will  spe» 

•  cially  become  of  him  in  a  world  where  there  are  two  or 

I  three  million  colonists  a  month,  from  this  one  planet, 

'  to  be  cared  for  ?     These  are  grave   questions,  which 

must  suggest  themselves  to  those  who  know  that  there 

are  many  profoundly  selfish  persons  who  are  sincerely 

devout  and  perpetually  occupied  with  their  own  future, 

while  there  are  others  who  are  perfectly  ready  to  sac- 

).    rifice  themselves  for  any  worthy  object  in  this  world, 

but  are  really  too  little  occupied  with  their  exclusive 

personality  to  think  so  much  as  many  do  about  what 

is  to  become  of  them  in  another. 

The  Reverend  Chauncy  Fairweather  did  not,  most 
certainly,  belong  to  this  latter  class.  There  are  sev 
eral  kinds  of  believers,  whose  history  we  find  among 
the  early  converts  to  Christianity. 

There  was  the  magistrate,  whose  social  position 
was  such  that  he  preferred  a  private  interview  in  the 
evening  with  the  Teacher  to  following  him  with  the 
street-crowd.  IJe  had  seen  extraordinary  facts  which 
had  satisfied  him  that  the  young  Galilean  had  a  di 
vine  commission.  But  still  he  cross -questioned  the 
Teacher  himself.  He  was  not  ready  to  accept  state 
ments  without  explanation.  That  was  the  right  kind 
of  man.  See  how  he  stood  up  for  the  legal  rights  of 
his  Master,  when  the  people  were  for  laying  hands  on 
him! 

And  again,  there  was  the  government  official,  in- 


ELSIE  VENNER.  417 

trusted  with  public  money,  which,  in  those  days,  im 
plied  that  he  was  supposed  to  be  honest.  A  single 
look  of  that  heavenly  countenance,  and  two  words  of 
gentle  command,  were  enough  for  him.  Neither  of 
these  men,  the  early  disciple,  nor  the  evangelist, 
seems  to  have  been  thinking  primarily  about  his  own 
personal  safety. 

But  now  look  at  the  poor,  miserable  turnkey,  whose 
occupation  shows  what  he  was  like  to  be,  and  who  had 
just  been  thrusting  two  respectable  strangers,  taken 
from  the  hands  of  a  mob,  covered  with  stripes  and 
stripped  of  clothing,  into  the  inner  prison,  and  mak 
ing  their  feet  fast  in  the  stocks.  His  thought,  in  the 
moment  of  terror,  is  for  himself:  first,  suicide;  then, 
what  he  shall  do,  —  not  to  save  his  household,  —  not 
to  fulfil  his  duty  to  his  office,  —  not  to  repair  the  out 
rage  he  has  been  committing,  —  but  to  secure  his  own 
personal  safety.  Truly,  character  shows  itself  as 
much  in  a  man's  way  of  becoming  a  Christian  as  in 
any  other! 

—  Elsie  sat,  statue-like,  through  the  sermon.  It 
would  not  be  fair  to  the  reader  to  give  an  abstract  of 
that.  When  a  man  who  has  been  bred  to  free  thought 
and  free  speech  suddenly  finds  himself  stepping  about, 
like  a  dancer  amidst  his  eggs,  among  the  old  addled 
majority -votes  which  he  must  not  tread  upon,  he  is  a 
spectacle  for  men  and  angels.  Submission  to  intellec 
tual  precedent  and  authority  does  very  well  for  those 
who  have  been  bred  to  it;  we  know  that  the  under 
ground  courses  of  their  minds  are  laid  in  the  Roman 
cement  of  tradition,  and  that  stately  and  splendid 
structures  may  be  reared  on  such  a  foundation.  But 
to  see  one  laying  a  platform  over  heretical  quicksands, 
thirty  or  forty  or  fifty  years  deep,  and  then  beginning 


418  ELSIE  VENNER. 

/ — 

to  build  upon  it,  is  a  sorry  sight.  A  new  convert 
from  the  reformed  to  the  ancient  faith  may  be  very 
strong  in  the  arms,  but  he  will  always  have  weak  legs 
and  shaky  knees.  He  may  use  his  hands  well,  and 
hit  hard  with  his  fists,  but  he  will  never  stand  on  his 
legs  in  the  way  the  man  does  who  inherits  his  belief. 

The  services  were  over  at  last,  and  Dudley  Venner 
and  his  daughter  walked  home  together  in  silence. 
He  always  respected  her  moods,  and  saw  clearly 
enough  that  some  inward  trouble  was  weighing  upon 
her.  There  was  nothing  to  be  said  in  such  cases,  for 
Elsie  could  never  talk  of  her  griefs,  An  hour,  or  a 
day,  or  a  week  of  brooding,  with  perhaps  a  sudden 
flash  of  violence :  this  was  the  way  in  which  the  im 
pressions  which  make  otner  women  weep,  and  tell  their 
griefs  by  word  or  letter,  showed  their  effects  in  her 
mind  and  acts. 

She  wandered  off  up  into  the  remoter  parts  of  The 
Mountain,  that  day,  after  their  return.  No  one  saw 
just  where  she  went,  —  indeed,  no  one  knew  its  forest- 
recesses  and  rocky  fastnesses  as  she  did.  She  was 
gone  until  late  at  night;  and  when  Old  Sophy,  who 
had  watched  for  her,  bound  up  her  long  hair  for  her 
sleep,  it  was  damp  with  the  cold  dews. 

The  old  black  woman  looked  at  her  without  speak 
ing,  but  questioning  her  with  every  feature  as  to  the 
sorrow  that  was  weighing  on  her. 

Suddenly  she  turned  to  Old  Sophy. 

"You  want  to  know  what  there  is  troubling  me," 
she  said.  "Nobody  loves  me.  I  cannot  love  any- 
body.  What  is  love,  Sophy?  " 

"It's  what  poor  Ol'  Sophy's  got  for  her  Elsie," 
the  old  woman  answered.  "Tell  me,  darlin',  — don' 
you  love  somebody?  —  don'  you  love ?  you  know, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  419 

—  oh,  tell  me,  darlin',  don'  you  love  to  see  the  genT- 
man  that  keeps  up  at  the  school  where  you  go? 
They  say  he  's  the  pootiest  gen'l'man  that  was  ever  in 
the  town  here.  Don'  be  'fraid  of  poor  Ol'  Sophy, 
darlin', — she  loved  a  man  once, — see  here!  Oh, 
I  've  showed  you  this  often  enough!  " 

She  took  from  her  pocket  a  half  of  one  of  the  old 
Spanish  silver  coins,  such  as  were  current  in  the  ear 
lier  part  of  this  century.  The  other  half  of  it  had 
been  lying  in  the  deep  sea-sand  for  more  than  fifty 
years. 

Elsie  looked  her  in  the  face,  but  did  not  answer  in 
words.  What  strange  intelligence  was  that  which 
passed  between  them  through  the  diamond  eyes  and 
the  little  beady  black  ones?  —  what  subtile  intercom 
munication,  penetrating  so  much  deeper  than  articu 
late  speech?  This  was  the  nearest  approach  to  sym 
pathetic  relations  that  Elsie  ever  had :  a  kind  of  dumb 
intercourse  of  feeling,  such  as  one  sees  in  the  eyes  of 
brute  mothers  looking  on  their  young.  But,  subtile 
as  it  was,  it  was  narrow  and  individual;  whereas  an 
emotion  which  can  shape  itself  in  language  opens  the 
gate  for  itself  into  the  great  community  of  human 
affections ;  for  every  word  we  speak  is  the  medal  of 
a  dead  thought  or  feeling,  struck  in  the  die  of  some 
human  experience,  worn  smooth  by  innumerable  con 
tacts,  and  always  transferred  warm  from  one  to  an 
other.  By  words  we  share  the  common  consciousness 
of  the  race,  which  has  shaped  itself  in  these  symbols. 
By  music  we  reach  those  special  states  of  conscious 
ness  which,  being  without  foi^m,  cannot  be  shaped 
with  the  mosaics  of  the  vocabulary.  The  language 
of  the  eyes  runs  deeper  into  the  personal  nature,  but 
it  is  purely  individual,  and  perishes  in  the  expression. 


420  ELSIE   VENDER. 

If  we  consider  them  all  as  growing  out  of  the  con- 
sciousness  as  their  root,  language  is  the  leaf,  music  is 
the  flower;  but  when  the  eyes  meet  and  search  each 
other,  it  is  the  uncovering  of  the  blanched  stem 
through  which  the  whole  life  runs,  but  which  has 
never  taken  color  or  form  from  the  sunlight. 
r  For  three  days  Elsie  did  not  return  to  the  school. 
Much  of  the  time  she  was  among  the  woods  and  rocks. 
The  season  was  now  beginning  to  wane,  and  the  for 
est  to  put  on  its  autumnal  glory.  The  dreamy  haze 
was  beginning  to  soften  the  landscape,  and  the  most 
delicious  days  of  the  year  were  lending  their  attraction 
to  the  scenery  of  The  Mountain.  It  was  not  very 
singular  that  Elsie  should  be  lingering  in  her  old 
haunts,  from  which  the  change  of  season  must  soon 
drive  her.  But  Old  Sophy  saw  clearly  enough  that 
some  internal  conflict  was  going  on,  and  knew  very 
well  that  it  must  have  its  own  way  and  work  itself 
out  as  it  best  could.  As  much  as  looks  could  tell 
Elsie  had  told  her.  She  had  said  in  words,  to  be 
sure,  that  she  could  not  love.  Something  warped  and 
thwarted  the  emotion  which  would  have  been  love  in 
another,  no  doubt ;  but  that  such  an  emotion  was  striv 
ing  with  her  against  all  malign  influences  which  in 
terfered  with  it  the  old  woman  had  a  perfect  certainty 
in  her  own  mind. 

Everybody  who  has  observed  the  working  of  emo 
tions  in  persons  of  various  temperaments  knows  well 
enough  that  they  have  periods  of  incubation,  which 
differ  with  the  individual,  and  with  the  particular 
cause  and  degree  of  excitement,  yet  evidently  go 
through  a  strictly  self -limited  series  of  evolutions,  at 
the  end  of  which,  their  result  —  an  act  of  violence,  a 
paroxysm  of  tears,  a  gradual  subsidence  into  repose, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  421 

or  whatever  it  may  be  —  declares  itself,  like  the  last 
stage  of  an  attack  of  fever  and  ague.  No  one  can 
observe  children  without  noticing  that  there  is  a  per 
sonal  equation,  to  use  the  astronomer's  language,  in 
their  tempers,  so  that  one  sulks  an  hour  over  an  offence 
which  makes  another  a  fury  for  five  minutes,  and 
leaves  him  or  her  an  angel  when  it  is  over. 

At  the  end  of  three  days,  Elsie  braided  her  long, 
glossy,  black  hair,  and  shot  a  golden  arrow  through  it. 
She  dressed  herself  with  more  than  usual  care,  and 
came  down  in  the  morning  superb  in  her  stormy 
beauty.  The  brooding  paroxysm  was  over,  or  at  least 
her  passion  had  changed  its  phase.  Her  father  saw  it 
with  great  relief ;  he  had  always  many  fears  for  her  in 
her  hours  and  days  of  gloom,  but,  for  reasons  before 
assigned,  had  felt  that  she  must  be  trusted  to  herself, 
without  appealing  to  actual  restraint,  or  any  other 
supervision  than  such  as  Old  Sophy  could  exercise 
without  offence. 

She  went  off  at  the  accustomed  hour  to  the  school. 
All  the  girls  had  their  eyes  on  her.  None  so  keen  as 
these  young  misses  to  know  an  inward  movement  by 
an  outward  sign  of  adornment:  if  they  have  not  as 
many  signals  as  the  ships  that  sail  the  great  seas,  there 
is  not  an  end  of  ribbon  or  a  turn  of  a  ringlet  which  is 
tiot  a  hieroglyphic  with  a  hidden  meaning  to  these  lit 
tle  cruisers  over  the  ocean  of  sentiment. 

The  girls  all  looked  at  Elsie  with  a  new  thought ;  for 
she  was  more  sumptuously  arrayed  than  perhaps  ever 
before  at  the  school;  and  they  said  to  themselves  that 
she  had  come  meaning  to  draw  the  young  master's 
eyes  upon  her.  That  was  it;  what  else  could  it  be? 
The  beautiful  cold  girl  with  the  diamond  eyes  meant  to 
dazzle  the  handsome  young  gentleman.  He  would  be 


422  ELSIE   VENNER. 

afraid  to  love  her;  it  couldn't  be  true,  that  which 
some  people  had  said  in  the  village ;  she  was  n't  the 
kind  of  young  lady  to  make  Mr.  Langdon  happy. 
Those  dark  people  are  never  safe :  so  one  of  the  young 
blondes  said  to  herself.  Elsie  was  not  literary  enough 
for  such  a  scholar:  so  thought  Miss  Charlotte  Ann 
Wood,  the  young  poetess.  She  could  n't  have  a  good 
temper,  with  those  scowling  eyebrows:  this  was  the 
opinion  of  several  broad-faced,  smiling  girls,  who 
thought,  each  in  her  own  snug  little  mental  sanctum, 
that,  if,  etc.,  etc.,  she  could  make  him  so  happy! 

Elsie  had  none  of  the  still,  wicked  light  in  her 
eyes,  that  morning.  She  looked  gentle,  but  dreamy ; 
played  with  her  books ;  did  not  trouble  herself  with 
any  of  the  exercises,  —  which  in  itself  was  not  very 
remarkable,  as  she  was  always  allowed,  under  some 
pretext  or  other,  to  have  her  own  way. 

The  school-hours  were  over  at  length.  The  girls 
went  out,  but  she  lingered  to  the  last.  She  then  came 
up  to  Mr.  Bernard,  with  a  book  in  her  hand,  as  if  to 
ask  a  question. 

"Will  you  walk  towards  my  home  with  me  to 
day?  "  she  said,  in  a  very  low  voice,  little  more  than 
a  whisper. 

Mr.  Bernard  was  startled  by  the  request,  put  in 
such  a  way.  He  had  a  presentiment  of  some  painful 
scene  or  other.  But  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but 
to  assure  her  that  it  would  give  him  great  pleasure. 

So  they  walked  along  together  on  their  way  toward 
the  Dudley  mansion. 

"I  have  no  friend,"  Elsie  said,  all  at  once.  "No 
thing  loves  me  but  one  old  woman.  rl  cannot  love 
anybody.  They  tell  me  there  is  something  in  my 
eyes  that  draws  people  to  me  and  makes  them  faint. 
Look  into  them,  will  you?  " 


ELSIE  VENNER.  423 

She  turned  her  face  toward  him.  It  was  very  pale, 
and  the  diamond  eyes  were  glittering  with  a  film,  such 
as  beneath  other  lids  would  have  rounded  into  a  tear. 

"Beautiful    eyes,    Elsie,"   he    said,  —  "sometimes 
very  piercing,  —  but  soft  now,  and  looking  as  if  there 
were  something  beneath  them  that  friendship  might 
draw  out.     I  am  your  friend,  Elsie.     Tell  me  what  I  A 
can  do  to  render  your  life  happier." 

"Love  me!  "  said  Elsie  Venner. 

What  shall  a  man  do,  when  a  woman  makes  such  a 
demand,  involving  such  an  avowal?  It  was  the  ten- 
derest,  cruellest,  humblest  moment  of  Mr.  Bernard's 
life.  He  turned  pale,  he  trembled  almost,  as  if  he 
had  been  a  woman  listening  to  her  lover's  declaration. 

"Elsie,"  he  said,  presently,  "I  so  long  to  be  of  some 
use  to  you,  to  have  your  confidence  and  sympathy, 
that  I  must  not  let  you  say  or  do  anything  to  put  us 
in  false  relations.  I  do  love  you,  Elsie,  as  a  suffering 
sister  with  sorrows  of  her  own,  —  as  one  whom  I  would 
save  a^nxhe  risk  of  my  happiness  and  life,  —  as  one 
who  needs  a  true  friend  more  than  any  of  all  the 
young  girls  I  have  known.  More  than  this  you  would 
not  ask  me  to  say.  You  have  been  through  excite 
ment  and  trouble  lately,  and  it  has  made  you  feel  such 
a  need  more  than  ever.  Give  me  your  hand,  dear 
Elsie,  and  trust  me  that  I  will  be  as  true  a  friend  to 
you  as  if  we  were  children  of  the  same  mother." 

Elsie  gave  him  her  hand  mechanically.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  a  cold  aura  shot  from  it  along  his  arm 
and  chilled  the  blood  running  through  his  heart.  He 
pressed  it  gently,  looked  at  her  with  a  face  full  of 
grave  kindness  and  sad  interest,  then  softly  relin 
quished  it. 

It  was  all  over  with  poor  Elsie.     They  walked  al- 


424  ELSIE   VENNER. 

most  in  silence  the  rest  of  the  way.  Mr.  Bernard 
left  her  at  the  gate  of  the  mansion-house,  and  re 
turned  with  sad  forebodings.  Elsie  went  at  once  to 
her  own  room,  and  did  not  come  from  it  at  the  usual 
hours.  At  last  Old  Sophy  began  to  be  alarmed  about 
her,  went  to  her  apartment,  and,  finding  the  door  un 
locked,  entered  cautiously.  She  found  Elsie  lying 
on  her  bed,  her  brows  strongly  contracted,  her  eyes 
dull,  her  whole  look  that  of  great  suffering.  Her 
first  thought  was  that  she  had  been  doing  herself  a 
harm  by  some  deadly  means  or  other.  But  Elsie  saw 
her  fear,  and  reassured  her. 

"No,"  she  said,  "there  is  nothing  wrong,  such  as 
you  are  thinking  of;  I  am  not  dying.  You  may  send 
for  the  Doctor;  perhaps  he  can  take  the  pain  from 
my  head.  That  is  all  I  want  him  to  do.  There  is 
no  use  in  the  pain,  that  I  know  of ;  if  he  can  stop  it, 
let  him." 

So  they  sent  for  the  old  Doctor.  It  was  not  long 
before  the  solid  trot  of  Caustic,  the  old  bay  bdrse,  and 
the  crashing  of  the  gravel  under  the  wheels,  gave  no 
tice  that  the  physician  was  driving  up  the  avenue. 

The  old  Doctor  was  a  model  for  visiting  practition 
ers.  He  always  came  into  the  sick-room  with  a  quiet, 
cheerful  look,  as  if  he  had  a  consciousness  that  he  was 
bringing  some  sure  relief  with  him.  The  way  a  pa 
tient  snatches  his  first  look  at  his  doctor's  face,  to  see 
whether  he  is  doomed,  whether  he  is  reprieved, 
whether  he  is  unconditionally  pardoned,  has  really 
something  terrible  about  it.  It  is  only  to  be  met  by 
an  imperturbable  mask  of  serenity,  proof  against  any 
thing  and  everything  in  a  patient's  aspect.  The  phy 
sician  whose  face  reflects  his  patient's  condition  like 
a  mirror  may  do  well  enough  to  examine  people  for  a 


ELSIE   VENNER.  425 

life-insurance  office,  but  does  not  belong  to  the  sick 
room.  The  old  Doctor  did  not  keep  people  waiting 
in  dread  suspense,  while  he  stayed  talking  about  the 
case,  —  the  patient  all  the  time  thinking  that  he  and 
the  friends  are  discussing  some  alarming  symptom  or 
formidable  operation  which  he  himself  is  by-and-by 
to  hear  of. 

He  was  in  Elsie's  room  almost  before  she  knew  he 
was  in  the  house.  He  came  to  her  bedside  in  such  a 
natural,  quiet  way,  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  only 
a  friend  who  had  dropped  in  for  a  moment  to  say  a 
pleasant  word.  Yet  he  was  very  uneasy  about  Elsie 
until  he  had  seen  her;  he  never  knew  what  might 
happen  to  her  or  those  about  her,  and  came  prepared 
for  the  worst. 

"Sick,  my  child?"  he  said,  in  a  very  soft,  low 
voice. 

Elsie  nodded,  without  speaking. 

The  Doctor  took  her  hand,  —  whether  with  profes 
sional  views,  or  only  in  a  friendly  way,  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  tell.  So  he  sat  a  few  minutes,  looking 
at  her  all  the  time  with  a  kind  of  fatherly  interest, 
but  with  it  all  noting  how  she  lay,  how  she  breathed, 
her  color,  her  expression,  all  that  teaches  the  prac 
tised  eye  so  much  without  a  single  question  being 
asked.  He  saw  she  was  in  suffering,  and  said  pres 
ently,  — 

"You  have  pain  somewhere;  where  is  it?  " 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  head. 

As  she  was  not  disposed  to  talk,  he  watched  her  for 
a  while,  questioned  Old  Sophy  shrewdly  a  few  min 
utes,  and  so  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the  probable 
cause  of  disturbance  and  the  proper  remedies  to  be 
used. 


426  ELSIE  VENNER. 

Some  very  silly  people  thought  the  old  Doctor  did 
not  believe  in  medicine,  because  he  gave  less  than 
certain  poor  half-taught  creatures  in  the  smaller 
neighboring  towns,  who  took  advantage  of  people's 
sickness  to  disgust  and  disturb  them  with  all  manner 
of  ill-smelling  and  ill-behaving  drugs.  In  truth,  he 
hated  to  give  anything  noxious  or  loathsome  to  those 
who  were  uncomfortable "  enough  already,  unless  he 
was  very  sure  it  would  do  good,  —  in  which  case,  he 
never  played  with  drugs,  but  gave  good,  honeat,  effi 
cient  doses.  Sometimes  he  lost  a  family 'of  the  more 
boorish  sort,  because  they  did  not  think  they  got  their 
money's  worth  out  of  him,  unless  they  had  something 
more  than  a  taste  of  everything  he  carried  in  his  sad 
dle-bags. 

He  ordered  some  remedies  which  he  thought  would 
relieve  Elsie,  and  left  her,  saying  he  would  caR  the 
next  day,  hoping  to  find  her  better.  But  the  lext 
day  came,  and  the  next,  and  still  Elsie  was  on  her 
bed,  —  feverish,  restless,  wakeful,  silent.  At  night 
she  tossed  about  and  wandered,  and  it  became  at 
length  apparent  that  there  was  a  settled  attack,  some 
thing  like  what  they  called,  formerly,  a  "nervous 
fever." 

On  the  fourth  day  she  was  more  restless  than  com 
mon.     One  of  the  women  of  the  house  came  in  to 
help  to  take  care  of  her ;  but  she  showed  an  aversion 
to  her  presence. 
I  /    "Send  me  Helen  Darley,"  she  said,  at  last. 

The  old  Doctor  told  them,  that,  if  possible,  they 
must  indulge  this  fancy  of  hers.  The  caprices  of  sick 
people  were  never  to  be  despised,  least  of  all  of  such 
persons  as  Elsie,  when  rendered  irritable  and  exacting 
by  pain  and  weakness. 


ELSIE  VENNER.  427 

So  a  message  was  sent  to  Mr.  Silas  Peckham  at  the 
Apollinean  Institute,  to  know  if  he  could  not  spare 
Miss  Helen  Darley  for  a  few  days,  if  required,  to  give 
her  attention  to  a  young  lady  who  attended  his  school 
and  who  was  now  lying  ill,  —  no  other  person  than  the 
daughter  of  Dudley  Venner. 

A  mean  man  never  agrees  to  anything  without  de= 
liberately  turning  it  over,  so  that  he  may  see  its  dirty 
side,  and,  if  he  can,  sweating  the  coin  he  pays  for  it.  % 
If  an  archangel  should  offer  to  save  his  soul  for  six-  I 
pence,  he  would  try  to  find  a  sixpence  with  a  hole  in 
it.  A  gentleman  says  yes  to  a  great  many  things 
without  stopping  to  think :  a  shabby  fellow  is  known 
by  his  caution  in  answering  questions,  for  fear  of  com 
promising  his  pocket  or  himself. 

Mr.  Silas  Peckham  looked  very  grave  at  the  re 
quest.  The  dooties  of  Miss  Darley  at  the  Institoot 
were  important,  very  important.  He  paid  her  large 
sums  of  money  for  her  time,  —  more  than  she  could 
expect  to  get  in  any  other  institootion  for  the  edooca- 
tion  of  female  youth.  A  deduction  from  her  selary 
would  be  necessary,  in  case  she  should  retire  from  the 
sphere  of  her  dooties  for  a  season.  He  should  be  put 
to  extry  expense,  and  have  to  perform  additional 
labors  himself.  He  would  consider  of  the  matter. 
If  any  arrangement  could  be  made,  he  would  send 
word  to  Squire  Yenner's  folks. 

"Miss  Darley,"  said  Silas  Peckham,  "the'  's  a 
message  from  Squire  Venner 's  that  his  daughter  wants 
you  down  at  the  mansion-house  to  see  her.  She  's 
got  a  fever,  so  they  inform  me.  If  it 's  any  kind  of 
ketchin'  fever,  of  course  you  won't  think  of  goin' 
near  the  mansion-house.  If  Doctor  Kittredge  says 
it 's  safe,  perfec'ly  safe,  I  can't  object  to  your  goin', 


428  ELSIE  VENNER. 

on  sech  conditions  as  seem  to  be  fair  to  all  concerned. 
You  will  give  up  your  pay  for  the  whole  time  you  are 
absent,  —  portions  of  days  to  be  caounted  as  whole 
days.  You  will  be  charged  with  board  the  same  as  i{ 
you  eat  your  victuals  with  the  household.  The  vict 
uals  are  of  no  use  after  they  're  cooked  but  to  be  eat, 
and  your  bein'  away  is  no  savin'  to  our  folks.  I  shall 
charge  you  a  reasonable  compensation  for  the  demage 
to  the  school  by  the  absence  of  a  teacher.  If  Miss 
Crabs  undertakes  any  dooties  belongin'  to  your  de 
partment  of  instruction,  she  will  look  to  you  for  sech 
pecooniary  considerations  as  you  may  agree  upon  be 
tween  you.  On  these  conditions  I  am  willin'  to  give 
my  consent  to  your  temporary  absence  from  the  post 
of  dooty.  I  will  step  down  to  Doctor  Kittredge's  my 
self,  and  make  inquiries  as  to  the  natur'  of  the  com 
plaint." 

Mr.  Peckham  took  up  a  rusty  and  very  narrow- 
brimmed  hat,  which  he  cocked  upon  one  side  of  his 
head,  with  an  air  peculiar  to  the  rural  gentry.  It 
was  the  hour  when  the  Doctor  expected  to  be  in  his 
office,  unless  he  had  some  special  call  which  kept  him 
from  home. 

He  found  the  Reverend  Chauncy  Fairweather  just 
taking  leave  of  the  Doctor.  His  hand  was  on  the  pit 
of  his  stomach,  and  his  countenance  was  expressive  of 
inward  uneasiness. 

"Shake  it  before  using/'  said  the  Doctor;  "and 
the  sooner  you  make  up  your  mind  to  speak  right  out, 
the  better  it  will  be  for  your  digestion." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Peckham'!  Walk  in,  Mr.  Peckham  I 
Nobody  sick  up  at  the  school,  I  hope?  " 

"The  haalth  of  the  school  is  fust-rate,"  replied  Mr. 
Peckham.  "The  sitooation  is  uncommonly  favorable 


ELSIE   VENNER.  429 


to  saloobrity."  (These  last  words  were  from  the  An 
nual  Report  of  the  past  year.)  "Providence  has 
spared  our  female  youth  in  a  remarkable  measure. 
I  've  come  with  reference  to  another  consideration. 
Dr.  Kittredge,  is  there  any  ketchin'  complaint  goin' 
about  in  the  village?  " 

"Well,  yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  should  say  there 
was  something  of  that  sort.  Measles.  Mumps.  And 
Sin,  — that 's  always  catching." 

The  old  Doctor's  eye  twinkled;  once  in  a  while  he 
had  his  little  touch  of  humor. 

Silas  Peckham  slanted  his  eye  up  suspiciously  at 
the  Doctor,  as  if  he  was  getting  some  kind  of  advan 
tage  over  him.  That  is  the  way  people  of  his  consti 
tution  are  apt  to  take  a  bit  of  pleasantry. 

"I  don't  mean  sech  things,  Doctor;  I  mean  fevers. 
Is  there  any  ketchin'  fevers  —  bilious,  or  nervous,  or 
typus,  or  whatever  you  call  'em  —  now  goin'  round 
this  village?  That's  what  I  want  to  ascertain,  if 
there  's  no  impropriety." 

The  old  Doctor  looked  at  Silas  through  his  specta 
cles. 

"Hard  and  sour  as  a  green  cider-apple,"  he  thought 
to  himself .  "No,"  he  said,  —  "I  don't  know  any 
such  cases." 

"What's  the  matter  with  Elsie  Vernier?"  asked 
Silas,  sharply,  as  if  he  expected  to  have  him  this  time. 

"A mild  feverish  attack,  I  should  call  it  in  anybody 
else ;  but  she  has  a  peculiar  constitution,  and  I  never 
feel  so  safe  about  her  as  I  should  about  most  people." 

"Anything  ketchin'  about  it?"  Silas  asked,  cun 
ningly. 

"No,  indeed!"  said  the  Doctor,  —  "catching?-^ 
no,  — what  put  that  into  your  head,  Mr.  Peckham?  " 


430  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"Well,  Doctor,"  the  conscientious  Principal  an 
swered,  "  I  naterally  feel  a  graat  responsibility,  a  very 
graaat  responsibility,  for  the  noomerous  and  lovely 
young  ladies  committed  to  my  charge.  It  has  been 
a  question,  whether  one  of  my  assistants  should  go, 
accordin'  to  request,  to  stop  with  Miss  Venner  for  a 
season.  Nothin'  restrains  my  givin'  my  full  and  free 
consent  to  her  goin'  but  the  fear  lest  contagious  mala 
dies  should  be  introdooced  among  those  lovely  female 
youth.  I  shall  abide  by  your  opinion,  —  I  understan' 
you  to  say  distinc'ly,  her  complaint  is  not  ketchin'  ? 
—  and  urge  upon  Miss  Darley  to  fulfil  her  dooties  to 
a  sufferin'  fellow-creature  at  any  cost  to  myself  and 
my  establishment.  We  shall  miss  her  very  much; 
but  it  is  a  good  cause,  and  she  shall  go,  —  and  I  shall 
trust  that  Providence  will  enable  us  to  spare  her  with 
out  permanent  demage  to  the  interests  of  the  Institoo- 
tion." 

Saying  this,  the  excellent  Principal  departed,  with 
his  rusty  narrow-brimmed  hat  leaning  over,  as  if  it 
had  a  six-knot  breeze  abeam,  and  its  gunwale  (so  to 
speak)  was  dipping  into  his  coat-collar.  He  an 
nounced  the  result  of  his  inquiries  to  Helen,  who  had 
received  a  brief  note  in  the  mean  time  from  a  poor 
relation  of  Elsie's  mother,  then  at  the  mansion-house, 
informing  her  of  the  critical  situation  of  Elsie  and  of 
her  urgent  desire  that  Helen  should  be  with  her.  She 
could  not  hesitate.  She  blushed  as  she  thought  of 
the  comments  that  might  be  made ;  but  what  were  such 
considerations  in  a  matter  of  life  and  death?  She 
could  not  stop  to  make  terms  with  Silas  Peckharn. 
She  must  go.  He  might  fleece  her,  if  he  would ;  she 
woidd  not  complain,  —  not  even  to  Bernard,  who, 
she  knew,  would  bring  the  Principal  to  terms,  if  she 
gave  the  least  hint  of  his  intended  extortions. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  431 

So  Helen  made  up  her  bundle  of  clothes  to  be  sent 
after  her,  took  a  book  or  two  with  her  to  help  her  pass 
the  time,  and  departed  for  the  Dudley  mansion.  It 
was  with  a  great  inward  effort  that  she  undertook  the 
sisterly  task  which  was  thus  forced  upon  her.  She 
had  a  kind  of  terror  of  Elsie ;  and  the  thought  of  hav 
ing  charge  of  her,  of  being  alone  with  her,  of  coming 
under  the  full  influence  of  those  diamond  eyes,  —  if, 
indeed,  their  light  were  not  dimmed  by  suffering  and 
weariness,  —  was  one  she  shrank  from.  But  what 
could  she  do?  It  might  be  a  turning-point  in  the 
life  of  the  poor  girl;  and  she  must  overcome  all  her 
fears,  all  her  repugnance,  and  go  to  her  rescue. 

"Is  Helen  come?  "  said  Elsie,  when  she  heard,  with 
her  fine  sense  quickened  by  the  irritability  of  sickness, 
a  light  footfall  on  the  stair,  with  a  cadence  unlike 
that  of  any  inmate  of  the  house. 

"It's  a  strange  woman's  step,"  said  Old  Sophy, 
who,  with  her  exclusive  love  for  Elsie,  was  naturally 
disposed  to  jealousy  of  a  new-comer.  "Let  Ol' 
Sophy  set  at  th'  foot  o'  th'  bed,  if  th'  young  missis 
sets  by  th'  piller, — won'  y',  darlin'?  The' 's  no 
body  that 's  white  can  love  y'  as  th'  ol'  black  woman 
does;  —  don'  sen'  her  away,  now,  there's  a  dear 
soul!" 

Elsie  motioned  her  to  sit  in  the  place  she  had 
pointed  to,  and  Helen  at  that  moment  entered  the 
room.  Dudley  Venner  followed  her. 

"She  is  your  patient,"  he  said,  "except  while  the 
Doctor  is  here.  She  has  been  longing  to  have  you 
with  her,  and  we  shall  expect  you  to  make  her  well  in 
a  few  days." 

So  Helen  Darley  found  herself  established  in  the 
most  unexpected  manner  as  an  inmate  of  the  Dudley 


432  ELSIE  VENNER. 

mansion.  She  sat  with  Elsie  most  of  the  time,  by  clay 
and  by  night,  soothing  her,  and  trying  to  enter  into 
her  confidence  and  affections,  if  it  should  prove  that 
this  strange  creature  was  really  capable  of  truly  sym 
pathetic  emotions. 

What  was  this  unexplained  something  which  came 
between  her  soul  and  that  of  every  other  human  being 
with  whom  she  was  in  relations?  Helen  perceived, 
or  rather  felt,  that  she  had,  folded  up  in  the  depths 
of  her  being,  a  true  womanly  nature.  Through  the 
cloud  that  darkened  her  aspect,  now  and  then  a  ray 
would  steal  forth,  which,  like  the  smile  of  stern  and 
solemn  people,  was  all  the  more  impressive  from  its 
contrast  with  the  expression  she  wore  habitually.  It 
might  well  be  that  pain  and  fatigue  had  changed  her 
aspect ;  but,  at  any  rate,  Helen  looked  into  her  eyes 
without  that  nervous  agitation  which  their  cold  glitter 
had  produced  on  her  when  they  were  full  of  their  nat 
ural  light.  She  felt  sure  that  her  mother  must  have 
been  a  lovely,  gentle  woman.  There  were  gleams  of 
a  beautiful  nature  shining  through  some  ill-defined 
medium  which  disturbed  and  made  them  flicker  and 
waver,  as  distant  images  do  when  seen  through  the 
rippling  upward  currents  of  heated  air.  She  loved, 
in  her  own  way,  the  old  black  woman,  and  seemed  to 
keep  up  a  kind  of  silent  communication  with  her,  as 
if  they  did  not  require  the  use  of  speech.  She  ap 
peared  to  be  tranquillized  by  the  presence  of  Helen, 
and  loved  to  have  her  seated  at  the  bedside.  Yet 
something,  whatever  it  was,  prevented  her  from  open 
ing  her  heart  to  her  kind  companion ;  and  even  now 
there  were  times  when  she  would  lie  looking  at  her, 
with  such  a  still,  watchful,  almost  dangerous  expres 
sion,  that  Helen  would  sigh,  and  change  her  place, 


ELSIE  VENNER.  433 

as  persons  do  whose  breath  some  cunning  orator  had 
been  sucking  out  of  them  with  his  spongy  eloquence, 
so  that,  when  he  stops,  they  must  get  some  air  and 
stir  about,  or  they  feel  as  if  they  should  be  half  smoth 
ered  and  palsied. 

It  was  too  much  to  keep  guessing  .what  was  the 
meaning  of  all  this.  Helen  determined  to  ask  Old 
Sophy  some  questions  which  might  probably  throw 
light  upon  her  doubts.  She  took  the  opportunity  one 
evening  when  Elsie  was  lying  asleep  and  they  were 
both  sitting  at  some  distance  from  her  bed. 

"Tell  me,  Sophy,"  she  said,  "was  Elsie  always  as 
shy  as  she  seems  to  be  now,  in  talking  with  those  to 
whom  she  is  friendly?  " 

"  Alway  jes'  so,  Miss  Darlin',  ever  sence  she  was 
little  chil'.  When  she  was  five,  six  year  old,  she  lisp 
some,  —  call  me  Thophy;  that  make  her  kin'  o' 
'shamed,  perhaps :  after  she  grow  up,  she  never  lisp, 
but  she  kin'  o'  got  the  way  o'  not  talkin'  much.  Fac' 
is,  she  don'  like  talkin'  as  common  gals  do,  'xcep'  jes' 
once  in  a  while  wi'  some  partic'lar  folks,  —  'n'  then 
not  much." 

"How  old  is  Elsie?" 

"Eighteen  year  this  las'  September." 

"How  long  ago  did  her  mother  die?  "  Helen  asked, 
with  a  little  trembling  in  her  voice. 

"Eighteen  year  ago  this  October,"  said  Old  Sophy. 

Helen  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  she  whis 
pered,  almost  inaudibly,  —  for  her  voice  appeared  to 
fail  her,  — - 

"What  did  her  mother  die  of,  Sophy?  " 

The  old  woman's  small  eyes  dilated  until  a  ring  of 
white  showed  round  their  beady  centres.  She  caught 
Helen  by  the  hand  and  clung  to  it,  as  if  in  fear.  She 


434  ELSIE   VENNER. 

looked  round  at  Elsie,  who  lay  sleeping,  as  if  she 
might  be  listening.  Then  she  drew  Helen  towards 
her  and  led  her  softly  out  of  the  room. 

"'Sh! —  'sh!  "  she  said,  as  soon  as  they  were  out 
side  the  door.  "Don'  never  speak  in  this  house 
'bout  what  Elsie's  mother  died  of!  "  she  said.  "No 
body  never  says  nothin'  'bout  it.  Oh,  God  has  made 
Ugly  Things  wi'  death  in  their  mouths,  Miss  Darlin', 
an'  He  knows  what  they  're  for;  but  my  poor  Elsie! 
—  to  have  her  blood  changed  in  her  before  —  It 
was  in  July  Mistress  got  her  death,  but  she  liv'  till 
three  week  after  my  poor  Elsie  was  born." 

She  could  speak  no  more.  She  had  said  enough. 
Helen  remembered  the  stories  she  had  heard  on  com 
ing  to  the  village,  and  among  them  one  referred  to 
in  an  early  chapter  of  this  narrative.  All  the  unac 
countable  looks  and  tastes  and  ways  of  Elsie  came 
back  to  her  in  the  light  of  an  ante-natal  impression 
\/  which  had  mingled  an  alien  element  in  her  nature. 
She  knew  the  secret  of  the  fascination  which  looked 
out  of  her  cold,  glittering  eyes.  She  knew  the  signif 
icance  of  the  strange  repulsion  which  she  felt  in  her 
own  intimate  consciousness  underlying  the  inexplica 
ble  attraction  which  drew  her  towards  the  young  girl 
in  spite  of  this  repugnance.  She  began  to  look  with 
new  feelings  on  the  contradictions  in  her  moral  na 
ture,  —  the  longing  for  sympathy,  as  shown  by  her 
wishing  for  Helen's  company,  and  the  impossibility 
of  passing  beyond  the  cold  circle  of  isolation  within 
which  she  had  her  being.  The  fearful  truth  of  that 
instinctive  feeling  of  hers,  that  there  was  something 
not  human  looking  out  of  Elsie's  eyes,  came  upon  her 
with  a  sudden  flash  of  penetrating  conviction.  There 
were  two  warring  principles  in  that  superb  organiza- 


ELSIE   VENNER.  435 

tion  and  proud  soul.  One  made  her  a  woman,  with 
all  a  woman's  powers  and  longings.  The  other 
chilled  all  the  currents  of  outlet  for  her  emotions.  It 
made  her  tearless  and  mute,  when  another  woman 
would  have  wept  and  pleaded.  And  it  infused  into 
her  soul  something  —  it  was  cruel  now  to  call  it  malice 
—  which  was  still  and  watchful  and  dangerous,  — 
which  waited  its  opportunity,  and  then  shot  like  an 
arrow  from  its  bow  out  of  the  coil  of  brooding  pre 
meditation.  Even  those  who  had  never  seen  the  white 
scars  on  Dick  Venner's  wrist,  or  heard  the  half-told 
story  of  her  supposed  attempt  to  do  a  graver  mischief, 
knew  well  enough  by  looking  at  her  that  she  was  one 
of  the  creatures  not  to  be  tampered  with,  —  silent  in 
anger  and  swift  in  vengeance. 

Helen  could  not  return  to  the  bedside  at  once  after 
this  communication.  It  was  with  altered  eyes  that 
she  must  look  on  the  poor  girl,  the  victim  of  such  an 
unheard-of  fatality.  All  was  explained  to  her  now. 
But  it  opened  such  depths  of  solemn  thought  in  her 
awakened  consciousness,  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole 
mystery  of  human  life  were  coming  up  again  before 
her  for  trial  and  judgment.  "Oh,"  she  thought,  "if, 
while  the  will  lies  sealed  in  its  fountain,  it  may  be 
poisoned  at  its  very  source,  so  that  it  shall  flow  dark 
and  deadly  through  its  whole  course,  who  are  we  that 
we  should  judge  our  fellow -creatures  by  ourselves  ?" 
Then  carce  the  terrible  question,  how  far  the  elements 
themselves  are  capable  of  perverting  the  moral  nature : 
if  valor,  and  justice,  and  truth,  the  strength  of  man 
and  the  virtue  of  woman,  may  not  be  poisoned  out  of 
a  race  by  the  food  of  the  Australian  in  his  forest,  — 
by  the  foul  air  and  darkness  of  the  Christians  cooped 
up  in  the  "tenement-houses"  close  by  those  who  live 
in  the  palaces  of  the  great  cities? 


436  ELSIE    VENNER. 

She  walked  out  into  the  garden,  lost  in  thought 
upon  these  dark  and  deep  matters.  Presently  she 
heard  a  step  behind  her,  and  Elsie's  father  came  up 
and  joined  her.  Since  his  introduction  to  Helen  at 
the  distinguished  tea-party  given  by  the  Widow  Row- 
ens,  and  before  her  coming  to  sit  with  Elsie,  Mr. 
Dudley  Venner  had  in  the  most  accidental  way  in  the 
world  met  her  on  several  occasions :  once  after  church, 
when  she  happened  to  be  caught  in  a  slight  shower 
and  he  insisted  on  holding  his  umbrella  over  her  on 
her  way  home ;  —  once  at  a  small  party  at  one  of  the 
mansion-houses,  where  the  quick-eyed  lady  of  the 
house  had  a  wonderful  knack  of  bringing  people  to 
gether  who  liked  to  see  each  other;  —  perhaps  at 
other  times  and  places ;  but  of  this  there  is  no  certain 
evidence. 

They  naturally  spoke  of  Elsie,  her  illness,  and  the 
aspect  it  had  taken.  But  Helen  noticed  in  all  that 
Dudley  Venner  said  about  his  daughter  a  morbid  sen 
sitiveness,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  an  aversion  to  saying 
much  about  her  physical  condition  or  her  peculiari 
ties,  —  a  wish  to  feel  and  speak  as  a  parent  should, 
and  yet  a  shrinking,  as  if  there  were  something  about 
Elsie  which  he'  could  not  bear  to  dwell  upon.  She 
thought  she  saw  through  all  this,  and  she  could  inter 
pret  it  all  charitably.  There  were  circumstances 
about  his  daughter  which  recalled  the  great  sorrow  of 
his  life;  it  was  not  strange  that  this  perpetual  re 
minder  should  in  some  degree  have  modified  his  feel 
ings  as  a  father.  But  what  a  life  he  must  have  been 
leading  for  so  many  years,  with  this  perpetual  source 
of  distress  which  he  could  not  name!  Helen  knew 
well  enough,  now,  the  meaning  of  the  sadness  which 
had  left  such  traces  in  his  features  and  tones,  and  it 


ELSIE  VENNER.  43? 

made  her  feel  very  kindly  and  compassionate  towards 
him. 

So  they  walked  over  the  crackling  leaves  in  the  gar 
den,  between  the  lines  of  box  breathing  its  fragrance 
of  eternity ;  —  for  this  is  one  of  the  odors  which  carry 
us  out  of  time  into  the  abysses  of  the  unbeginning 
past;  if  we  ever  lived  on  another  ball  of  stone  than 
this,  it  must  be  that  there  was  box  growing  on  it.  So 
they  walked,  finding  their  way  softly  to  each  other's 
sorrows  and  sympathies,  each  matching  some  counter 
part  to  the  other's  experience  of  life,  and  startled  to  see 
how  the  different,  yet  parallel,  lessons  they  had  been 
taught  by  suffering  had  led  them  step  by  step  to  the 
same  serene  acquiescence  in  the  orderings  of  that  Su 
preme  Wisdom  which  they  both  devoutly  recognized. 

Old  Sophy  was  at  the  window  and  saw  them  walk 
ing  up  and  down  the  garden -alleys.  She  watched 
them  as  her  grandfather  the  savage  watched  the  figures 
that  moved  among  the  trees  when  a  hostile  tribe  was 
lurking  about  his  mountain. 

"There'll  be  a  weddin'  in  the  oP  house,"  she 
said,  "  before  there 's  roses  on  them  bushes  ag'in. 
But  it  won'  be  my  poor  Elsie's  weddin',  'n'  Ol' 
Sophy  won'  be  there." 

When  Helen  prayed  in  the  silence  of  her  soul  that 
evening,  it  was  not  that  Elsie's  life  might  be  spared. 
She  dared  not  ask  that  as  a  favor  of  Heaven.  What 
could  life  be  to  her  but  a  perpetual  anguish,  and  to 
those  about  her  but  an  ever-present  terror?  Might 
she  but  by  so  influenced  by  divine  grace,  that  what  in 
her  was  most  truly  human,  most  purely  woman-like, 
should  overcome  the  dark,  cold,  unmentionable  instinct 
which  had  pervaded  her  being  like  a  subtile  poison : 
that  was  all  she  could  ask,  and  the  rest  she  left  to  a 
higher  wisdom  and  tenderer  love  than  her  own. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  WHITE   ASH. 

WHEN  Helen  returned  to  Elsie's  bedside,  it  was 
with  a  new  and  still  deeper  feeling  of  sympathy,  suc'j 
as  the  story  told  by  Old  Sophy  might  well  awaken. 
She  understood,  as  never  before,  the  singular  fascina 
tion  and  as  singular  repulsion  which  she  had  long  felt 
in  Elsie's  presence.  It  had  not  been  without  a  great 
effort  that  she  had  forced  herself  to  become  the  almost 
constant  attendant  of  the  sick  girl ;  and  now  she  was 
learning,  but  not  for  the  first  time,  the  blessed  truth 
which  so  many  good  women  have  found  out  for  them 
selves,  that  the  hardest  duty  bravely  performed  soon 
becomes  a  habit,  and  tends  in  due  time  to  transforr 
itself  into  a  pleasure. 

The  old  Doctor  was  beginning  to  look  graver,  in 
spite  of  himself.  The  fever,  if  such  it  was,  went 
gently  forward,  wasting  the  young  girl's  powers  of 
resistance  from  day  to  day;  yet  she  showed  no  dispo 
sition  to  take  nourishment,  and  seemed  literally  to  be 
living  on  air.  It  was  remarkable  that  with  all  this  her 
look  was  almost  natural,  and  her  features  were  hardly 
sharpened  so  as  to  suggest  that  her  life  was  burning 
away.  He  did  not  like  this,  nor  various  other  unob 
trusive  signs  of  danger  which  his  practised  eye  de 
tected.  A  very  small  matter  might  turn  the  balance 
which  held  life  and  death  poised  against  each  other. 
He  surrounded  her  with  precautions,  that  Nature 


ELSIE   VENNER.  439 

might  have  every  opportunity  of  cunningly  shifting 
the  weights  from  the  scale  of  death  to  the  scale  of  life, 
as  she  will  often  do  if  not  rudely  disturbed  or  inter 
fered  with. 

Little  tokens  of  good-will  and  kind  remembrance 
were  constantly  coming  to  her  from  the  girls  in  the 
school  and  the  good  people  in  the  village.  Some  of 
the  mansion-house  people  obtained  rare  flowers  which 
they  sent  her,  and  her  table  was  covered  with  fruits 
which  tempted  her  in  vain.  Several  of  the  school-girls 
wished  to  make  her  a  basket  of  their  own  handiwork, 
and,  filling  it  with  autumnal  flowers,  to  send  it  as  a 
joint  offering.  Mr.  Bernard  found  out  their  project 
accidentally,  and,  wishing-~to  have  his  share  in  it, 
brought  home  from  one  of  his  long  walks  some  boughs 
full  of  variously  tinted  leaves,  such  as  were  still  cling 
ing  to  the  stricken  trees.  With  these  he  brought 
also  some  of  the  already  fallen^  leaflets  of  the  white 
ash^  remarkable  for  their  rich  olive-purple  color,  form 
ing  a  beautiful  contrast  with  some  of  the  lighter-hued 
leaves.  YEt  so  happened  that  this  particular  tree,  the 
white  ash,  did  not  grow  upon  The  Mountain,  and  the 
leaflets  were  more  welcome  for  their  comparative  rar 
ity.  So  the  girls  made  their  basket,  and  the  floor  of 
it  they  covered  with  the  rich  olive-purple  leaflets. 
Such  late  flowers  as  they  could  lay  their  hands  upon 
served  to  fill  it,  and  with  many  kindly  messages  they 
sent  it  to  Miss  Elsie  Venner  at  the  Dudley  mansion- 
house. 

Elsie  was  sitting  up  in  her  bed  when  it  came,  lan 
guid,  but  tranquil,  and  Helen  was  by  her,  as  usual, 
holding  her  hand,  which  was  strangely  cold,  Helen 
thought,  for  one  who  was  said  to  have  some  kind  of 
fever.  The  school-girls'  basket  was  brought  in  with 


440  ELSIE   VENNEB. 

its  messages  of  love  and  hopes  for  speedy  recovery. 
Old  Sophy  was  delighted  to  see  that  it  pleased  Elsie, 
and  laid  it  on  the  bed  before  her.  Elsie  began  look 
ing  at  the  flowers,  and  taking  them  from  the  basket, 
that  she  might  see  the  leaves.  All  at  once  she  ap= 
peared  to  be  agitated ;  she  looked  at  the  basket,  -— 
then  around,  as  if  there  were  some  fearful  presence 
about  her  which  she  was  searching  for  with  her  eager 
glances.  She  took  out  the  flowers,  one  by  one,  her 
breathing  growing  hurried,  her  eyes  staring,  her  hands 
trembling,  —  till,  as  she  came  near  the  bottom  of  the 
basket,  she  flung  out  all  the  rest  with  a  hasty  move 
ment,  looked  upon  the  olive-purple  leaflets  as  if  par 
alyzed  for  a  moment,  shrunk  up,  as  it  were,  into  her 
self  in  a  curdling  terror,  dashed  the  basket  from  her, 
and  fell  back  senseless,  with  a  faint  cry  which  chilled 
the  blood  of  the  startled  listeners  at  her  bedside. 

( "  Take  it  away !  —  take  it  away !  —  quick !  "  said 
Old  Sophy,  as  she  hastened  to  her  mistress's  pillow. 
"It  's  the  leaves  of  the  tree  that  was  always  death  to 
her, — take  it  away!  She  can't  live  wi'  it  in  the 
room ! ") 

The  poor  old  woman  began  chafing  Elsie's  hands, 
and  Helen  to  try  to  rouse  her  with  hartshorn,  while  a 
third  frightened  attendant  gathered  up  the  flowers  and 
the  basket  and  carried  them  out  of  the  apartment. 
She  came  to  herself  after  a  time,  but  exhausted  and 
then  wandering.  In  her  delirium  she  talked  con 
stantly  as  if  she  were  in  a  cave,  with  such  exactness 
of  circumstance  that  Helen  could  not  doubt  at  all  that 
she  had  some  such  retreat  among  the  rocks  of  The 
Mountain,  probably  fitted  up  in  her  own  fantastic 
way,  where  she  sometimes  hid  herself  from  all  human 
eyes,  and  of  the  entrance  to  which  she  alone  possessed 
the  secret. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  441 

All  this  passed  away,  and  left  her,  of  course, 
weaker  than  before.  But  this  was  not  the  only  influ 
ence  the  unexplained  paroxysm  had  left  behind  it. 
From  this  time  forward  there  was  a  change  in  her 
whole  expression  and  her  manner.  The  shadows 
ceased  flitting  over  her  features,  and  the  old  woman, 
who  watched  her  from  day  to  day  and  from  hour  to 
hour  as  a  mother  watches  her  child,  saw  the  likeness 
she  bore  to  her  mother  coming  forth  more  and  more, 
as  the  cold  glitter  died  out  of  the  diamond  eyes,  and 
the  stormy  scowl  disappeared  from  the  dark  brows  and 
low  forehead. 

With  all  the  kindness  and  indulgence  her  father 
had  bestowed  upon  her,  Elsie  had  never  felt  that  he 
loved  her.  The  reader  knows  well  enough  what  fatal 
recollections  and  associations  had  frozen  up  the 
springs  of  natural  affection  in  his  breast.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  world  he  would  not  do  for  Elsie. 
He  had  sacrificed  his  whole  life  to  her.  His  very 
seeming  carelessness  about  restraining  her  was  all  cal 
culated  ;  he  knew  that  restraint  would  produce  nothing 
but  utter  alienation.  Just  so  far  as  she  allowed  him, 
he  shared  her  studies,  her  few  pleasures,  her  thoughts ; 
but  she  was  essentially  solitary  and  uncommunicative. 
No  person,  as  was  said  long  ago,  could  judge  him,  — 
because  his  task  was  not  merely  difficult,  but  simply 
impracticable  to  human  powers.  A  nature  like  Elsie's 
had  necessarily  to  be  studied  by  itself,  and  to  be  fol 
lowed  in  its  laws  where  it  could  not  be  led. 

Every  day,  at  different  hours,  during  the  whole  of 
his  daughter's  illness,  Dudley  Venner  had  sat  by  her, 
doing  all  he  could  to  soothe  and  please  her.  Always 
the  same  thin  film  of  some  emotional  non-conductor 
between  them;  always  that  kind  of  habitual  regard 


442  ELSIE  VENNEE. 

and  family-interest,  mingled  with  the  deepest  pity  on 
one  side  and  a  sort  of  respect  on  the  other,  which 
never  warmed  into  outward  evidences  of  affection. 

It  was  after  this  occasion,  when  she  had  been  so 
profoundly  agitated  by  a  seemingly  insignificant 
cause,  that  her  father  and  Old  Sophy  were  sitting, 
one  at  one  side  of  her  bed  and  one  at  the  other.  She 
had  fallen  into  a  light  slumber.  As  they  were  look 
ing  at  her,  the  same  thought  came  into  both  their 
minds  at  the  same  moment.  Old  Sophy  spoke  for 
both,  as  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"It 's  her  mother's  look,  — it 's  her  mother's  own 
face  right  over  again,  —  she  never  look'  so  before,  — 
the  Lord's  hand  is  on  her!  His  will  be  done!  " 

When  Elsie  woke  and  lifted  her  languid  eyes  upon 
her  father's  face,  she  saw  in  it  a  tenderness,  a  depth 
of  affection,  such  as  she  remembered  at  rare  moments 
of  her  childhood,  when  she  had  won  him  to  her  by 
some  unusual  gleam  of  sunshine  in  her  fitful  temper. 

"Elsie,  dear,"  he  said,  "we  were  thinking  how  much 
your  expression  was  sometimes  like  that  of  your  sweet 
mother.  If  you  could  but  have  seen  her,  so  as  to 
remember  her!  " 

The  tender  look  and  tone,  the  yearning  of  the 
daughter's  heart  for  the  mother  she  had  never  seen, 
save  only  with  the  unfixed,  undistinguishing  eyes  of 
earliest  infancy,  perhaps  the  under-thought  that  she 
might  soon  rejoin  her  in  another  state  of  being,  — all 
came  upon  her  with  a  sudden  overflow  of  feeling  which 
broke  through  all  the  barriers  between  her  heart  and 
her  eyes,  and  Elsie  wept.  It  seemed  to  her  father  as 
if  the  malign  influence  —  evil  spirit  it  might  almost 
be  called  —  which  had  pervaded  her  being,  had  at  last 
been  driven  forth  or  exorcised,  and  that  these  tears 


ELSIE   VENNER.  443 

were  at  once  the  sign  and  the  pledge  of  her  redeemed 
nature.  But  now  she  was  to  be  soothed,  and  not  ex 
cited.  After  her  tears  she  slept  again,  and  the  look 
her  face  wore  was  peaceful  as  never  before. 

Old  Sophy  met  the  Doctor  at  the  door  and  told  him 
all  the  circumstances  connected  with  the  extraordinary 
attack  from  which  Elsie  had  suffered.  It  was  the 
purple  leaves,  she  said.  She  remembered  that  Dick 
once  brought  home  a  branch  of  a  tree  with  some  of  the 
same  leaves  on  it,  and  Elsie  screamed  and  almost 
fainted  then.  She,  Sophy,  had  asked  her,  after  she 
had  got  quiet,  what  it  was  in  the  leaves  that  made  her 
feel  so  bad.  Elsie  could  n't  tell  her,  —  did  n't  like  to 
speak  about  it,  —  shuddered  whenever  Sophy  men 
tioned  it. 

This  did  not  sound  so  strangely  to  the  old  Doctor 
as  it  does  to  some  who  listen  to  this  narrative.  He 
had  known  some  curious  examples  of  antipathies,  and 
remembered  reading  of  others  still  more  singular. 
He  had  known  those  viio  could  not  bear  the  presence 
of  a  cat,  and  recollected  the  story,  often  told,  of  a  per 
son's  hiding  one  in  a  chest  when  one  of  these  sensi 
tive  individuals  came  into  the  room,  so  as  not  to  dis 
turb  him;  but  he  presently  began  to  sweat  and  turn 
pale,  and  cried  out  that  there  must  be  a  cat  hid  some 
where.  He  knew  people  who  were  poisoned  by  straw 
berries,  by  honey,  by  different  meats,  —  many  who 
could  not  endure  cheese,  —  some  who  could  not  bear 
the  smell  of  roses.  If  he  had  known  all  the  stories  in 
the  old  books,  he  would  have  found  that  some  have 
swooned  and  become  as  dead  men  at  the  smell  of  a 
rose,  —  that  a  stout  soldier  has  been  known  to  turn 
and  run  at  the  sight  or  smell  of  rue,  —  that  cassia  and 
even  olive-oil  have  produced  deadly  faintings  in  cer- 


444  ELSIE  VENNER. 

tain  individuals,  —  in  short,  that  almost  everything 
has  seemed  to  be  a  poison  to  somebody. 

"Bring  me  that  basket,  Sophy,"  said  the  old  Doc 
tor,  "if  you  can  find  it." 

Sophy  brought  it  to  him,  —  for  lie  had  not  yet  en 
tered  Elsie's  apartment. 

"These  purple  leaves  are  from  the  white  ash,"  he 
said.  "You  don't  know  the  notion  that  people  com 
monly  have  about  that  tree,  Sophy?  " 

"I  know  they  say  the  Ugly  Things  never  go  where 
the  white  ash  grows,"  Sophy  answered.  "Oh,  Doctor 
dear,  what  I'  m  thinkin'  of  a'n't  true,  is  it?  " 

The  Doctor  smiled  sadly,  but  did  not  answer.  He 
went  directly  to  Elsie's  room.  Nobody  would  have 
known  by  his  manner  that  he  saw  any  special  change 
in  his  patient.  He  spoke  with  her  as  usual,  mdde 
some  slight  alteration  in  his  prescriptions,  and  left 
the  room  with  a  kind,  cheerful  look.  He  met  her 
father  on  the  stairs. 

"Is  it  as  I  thought?  "  said  Dudley  Venner. 

"There  is  everything  to  fear,"  the  Doctor  said, 
"and  not  much,  I  am  afraid,  to  hope.  Does  not  her 
face  recall  to  you  one  that  you  remember,  as  never 
before?" 

"Yes,"  her  father  answered,  —  "oh,  yes!  What 
is  the  meaning  of  this  change  which  has  come  over 
her  features,  and  her  voice,  her  temper,  her  whole 
being?  Tell  me,  oh,  tell  me,  what  is  it?  Can  it  be 
that  the  curse  is  passing  away,  and  my  daughter  is  to 
be  restored  to  me,  —  such  as  her  mother  would  have 
had  her,  —  such  as  her  mother  was?  " 

"Walk  out  with  me  into  the  garden,"  the  Doctor 
said,  "and  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  and  all  I  think 
about  this  great  mystery  of  Elsie's  life." 


ELSIE  VENNER.  445 

They  walked  out  together,  and  the  Doctor  began :  — 
"She  has  lived  a  double  being,  as  it  were, — the 
consequence  of  the  blight  which  fell  upon  her  in  the 
dim  period  before  consciousness.  You  can  see  what 
she  might  have  been  but  for  this.  You  know  that  for 
these  eighteen  years  her  whole  existence  has  taken  its 
character  from  that  influence  which  we  need  not  name. 
But  you  will  remember  that  few  of  the  lower  forms  of 
life  last  as  human  beings  do ;  and  thus  it  might  have 
been  hoped  and  trusted  with  some  show  of  reason,  as 
(  I  have  always  suspected  you  hoped  and  trusted,  per 
haps  more  confidently  than  myself,  that  the  lower  na 
ture  which  had  become  engrafted  on  the  higher  would 
die  out  and  leave  the  real  woman's  life  she  inherited 
to  outlive  this  accidental  principle  which  had  so  poi 
soned  her  childhood  and  youth.  "\I  believe  it  is  so  dy 
ing  out ;  but  I  am  afraid,  —  yes,  I  must  say  it,  I  fear 
it  has  involved  the  centres  of  life  in  its  own  decay. 
There  is  hardly  any  pulse  at  Elsie's  wrist;  no  stimu 
lants  seem  to  rouse  her ;  and  it  looks  as  if  life  were 
slowly  retreating  inwards,  so  that  by-and-by  she  will 
sleep  as  those  who  lie  down  in  the  cold  and  never 
wake." 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  her  father  heard  all  this 
not  without  deep  sorrow,  and  such  marks  of  it  as  his 
thoughtful  and  tranquil  nature,  long  schooled  by  suf 
fering,  claimed  or  permitted,  but  with  a  resignation 
itself  the  measure  of  his  past  trials.  Dear  as  his 
daughter  might  become  to  him,  all  he  dared  to  ask  of 
Heaven  was  that  she  might  be  restored  to  that  truer 
self  which  lay  beneath  her  false  and  adventitious  being. 
If  he  could  once  see  that  the  icy  lustre  in  her  eyes  had 
become  a  soft,  calm  light,  —  that  her  soul  was  at 
peace  with  all  about  her  and  with  Him  above,  —  this 


446  ELSIE   VENNER. 

crumb  from  the  children's  table  was  enough  for  him, 
as  it  was  for  the  Syro-Phosnician  woman  who  asked 
that  the  dark  spirit  might  go  out  from  her  daughter. 

There  was  little  change  the  next  day,  until  all  at 
once  she  said  in  a  clear  voice  that  she  should  like  to 
see  her  master  at  the  school,  Mr.  Langdon.  He  came 
accordingly,  and  took  the  place  of  Helen  at  her  bed 
side.  It  seemed  as  if  Elsie  had  forgotten  the  last 
scene  with  him.  Might  it  be  that  pride  had  come  in, 
and  she  had  sent  for  him  only  to  show  how  superior 
she  had  grown  to  the  weakness  which  had  betrayed 
her  into  that  extraordinary  request,  so  contrary  to  the 
instincts  and  usages  of  her  sex?  Or  was  it  that  the 
singular  change  which  had  come  over  her  had  in 
volved  her  passionate  fancy  for  him  and  swept  it  away, 
with  her  other  habits  of  thought  and  feeling?  Or 
could  it  be  that  she  felt  that  all  earthly  interests  were 
becoming  of  little  account  to  her,  and  wished  to  place 
herself  right  with  one  to  whom  she  had  displayed  a 
wayward  movement  of  her  unbalanced  imagination? 
She  welcomed  Mr.  Bernard  as  quietly  as  she  had  re 
ceived  Helen  Darley.  He  colored  at  the  recollection 
of  that  last  scene,  when  he  came  into  her  presence; 
but  she  smiled  with  perfect  tranquillity.  She  did  not 
speak  to  him  of  any  apprehension ;  but  he  saw  that 
she  looked  upon  herself  as  doomed.  So  friendly,  yet 
so  calm  did  she  seem  through  all  their  interview,  that 
Mr.  Bernard  could  only  look  back  upon  her  manifes 
tation  of  feeling  towards  him  on  their  walk  from  the 
school  as  a  vagary  of  a  mind  laboring  under  some  un 
natural  excitement,  and  wholly  at  variance  with  the 
true  character  of  Elsie  Venner  as  he  saw  her  before 
him  in  her  subdued,  yet  singular  beauty.  He  looked 
with  almost  scientific  closeness  of  observation  into  the 


ELSIE   VENNER.  447 

diamond  eyes ;  but  that  peculiar  light  which  he  knew 
so  well  was  not  there.  She  was  the  same  in  one  sense 
as  on  that  first  day  when  he  had  seen  her  coiling  and 
uncoiling  her  golden  chain ;  yet  how  different  in  every 
aspect  which  revealed  her  state  of  mind  and  emotion ! 
Something  of  tenderness  there  was,  perhaps,  in  her 
tone  towards  him ;  she  would  not  have  sent  for  him, 
had  she  not  felt  more  than  an  ordinary  interest  in  him. 
But  through  the  whole  of  his  visit  she  never  lost  her 
gracious  self-possession.  The  Dudley  race  might  well 
be  proud  of  the  last  of  its  daughters,  as  she  lay  dying, 
but  unconquered  by  the  feeling  of  the  present  or  the 
fear  of  the  future. 

As  for  Mr.  Bernard,  he  found  it  very  hard  to  look 
upon  her,  and  listen  to  her  unmoved.  There  was 
nothing  that  reminded  him  of  the  stormy  -  browed, 
almost  savage  girl  he  remembered  in  her  fierce  love 
liness,  —  nothing  of  all  her  singularities  of  air  and  of 
costume.  Nothing?  Yes,  one  thing.  Weak  and 
suffering  as  she  was,  she  had  never  parted  with  one 
particular  ornament,  such  as  a  sick  person  would  nat 
urally,  as  it  might  be  supposed,  get  rid  of  at  once. 
The  golden  cord  which  she  wore  round  her  neck  at  the 
grsat  party  was  still  there.  A  bracelet  was  lying  by 
her  pillow ;  she  had  unclasped  it  from  her  wrist. 

Before  Mr.  Bernard  left  her,  she  said,  — 

"I  shall  never  see  you  again.  Some  time  or  other, 
perhaps,  you  will  mention  my  name  to  one  whom  you 
love.  Give  her  this  from  your  scholar  and  friend 
Elsie." 

He  took  the  bracelet,  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips, 
then  turned  his  face  away ;  in  that  moment  he  was  the 
weaker  of  the  two. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said;  "thank  you  for  coming." 


448  ELSIE   VENNEK. 

His  voice  died  away  in  his  throat,  as  he  tried  to 
answer  her.  She  followed  him  with  her  eyes  as  he 
passed  from  her  sight  through  the  door,  and  when  it 
closed  after  him  sobbed  tremulously  once  or  twice,  — 
but  stilled  herself,  and  met  Helen,  as  she  entered, 
with  a  composed  countenance. 

"I  have  had  a  very  pleasant  visit  from  Mr.  Lang- 
don,"  Elsie  said.  "Sit  by  me,  Helen,  awhile  without 
speaking ;  I  should  like  to  sleep,  if  I  can,  —  and  to 
dream." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  GOLDEN  CORD  IS  LOOSED. 

• 

THE  Reverend  Chauncy  Fairweather,  hearing  that 
his  parishioner's  daughter,  Elsie,  was  very  ill,  could 
do  nothing  less  than  come  to  the  mansion-house  and 
tender  such  consolations  as  he  was  master  of.  It  was 
rather  remarkable  that  the  old  Doctor  did  not  exactly 
approve  of  his  visit.  He  thought  that  company  of 
every  sort  might  be  injurious  in  her  weak  state.  He 
was  of  opinion  that  Mr.  Fairweather,  though  greatly 
interested  in  religious  matters,  was  not  the  most  sym 
pathetic  person  that  could  be  found ;  in  fact,  the  old 
Doctor  thought  he  was  too  much  taken  up  with  his 
own  interests  for  eternity  to  give  himself  quite  so 
heartily  to  the  need  of  other  people  as  some  persons 
got  up  on  a  rather  more  generous  scale  (our  good 
neighbor  Dr.  Honeywood,  for  instance)  could  do. 
However,  all  these  things  had  better  be  arranged  to 
suit  her  wants ;  if  she  would  like  to  talk  with  a  clergy 
man,  she  had  a  great  deal  better  see  one  as  often  as 
she  liked,  and  run  the  risk  of  the  excitement,  than 
have  a  hidden  wish  for  such  a  visit  and  perhaps  find 
herself  too  weak  to  see  him  by-and-by. 

The  old  Doctor  knew  by  sad  experience  that  dread 
ful  mistake  against  which  all  medical  practitioners 
should  be  warned.  His  experience  may  well  be  a 
guide  for  others.  Do  not  overlook  the  desire  for  spir 
itual  advice  and  consolation  which  patients  sometimes 


450  ELSIE  VENNER. 

feel,  and,  with  the  frightful  mauvaise  honte  peculiar 
to  Protestantism,  alone  among  all  human  beliefs,  are 
ashamed  to  tell.  As  a  part  of  medical  treatment,  it 
is  the  physician's  business  to  detect  the  hidden  long 
ing  for  the  food  of  the  soul,  as  much  as  for  any  form 
of  bodily  nourishment.  Especially  in  the  higher 
walks  of  society,  where  this  unutterably  miserable 
false  shame  of  Protestantism  acts  m  proportion  to  the 
general  acuteness  of  the  cultivated  sensibilities,  let  no 
unwillingness  to  suggest  the  sick  person's  real  need 
suffer  him  to  languish  between  his  want  and  his  mor 
bid  sensitiveness.  What  an  infinite  advantage  the 
Mussulmans  and  the  Catholics  have  over  many  of  our 
more  exclusively  spiritual  sects  in  the  way  they  keep 
their  religion  always  by  them  and  never  blush  for  it! 
And  besides  this  spiritual  longing,  we  should  never 
forget  that 

"  On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies," 

and  the  minister  of  religion,  in  addition  to  the  sym 
pathetic  nature  which  we  have  a  right  to  demand  in 
him,  has  trained  himself  to  the  art  of  entering  into 
the  feelings  of  others. 

The  reader  must  pardon  this  digression,  which  in 
troduces  the  visit  of  the  Keverend  Chauncy  Fair- 
weather  to  Elsie  Venner.  It  was  mentioned  to  her 
that  he  would  like  to  call  and  see  how  she  was,  and 
she  consented,  —  not  with  much  apparent  interest,  for 
she  had  reasons  of  her  own  for  not  feeling  any  very 
deep  conviction  of  his  sympathy  for  persons  in  sorrow. 
But  he  came,  and  worked  the  conversation  round  to 
religion,  and  confused  her  with  his  hybrid  notions, 
half  made  up  of  what  he  had  been  believing  and  teach 
ing  all  his  life,  and  half  of  the  new  doctrines  which 


ELSIE   VENNER.  451 

he  had  veneered  upon  the  surface  of  his  old  belief. 
He  got  so  far  as  to  make  a  prayer  with  her,  —  a  cool, 
well-guarded  prayer,  which  compromised  his  faith  as 
little  as  possible,  and  which,  if  devotion  were  a  game 
played  against  Providence,  might  have  been  consid 
ered  a  cautious  and  sagacious  move. 

When  he  had  gone,  Elsie  called  Old  Sophy  to  her. 

"Sophy,"  she  said,  "don't  let  them  send  that  cold- 
hearted  man  to  me  any  more.  If  your  old  minister 
comes  to  see  you,  I  should  like  to  hear  him  talk.  He 
looks  as  if  he  cared  for  everybody,  and  would  care 
for  me.  And,  Sophy,  if  I  should  die  one  of  these 
days,  I  should  like  to  have  that  old  minister  come  and 
say  whatever  is  to  be  said  over  me.  It  would  comfort 
Dudley  more,  I  know,  than  to  have  that  hard  man 
here,  when  you  're  in  trouble,  —  for  some  of  you  will 
be  sorry  when  I  'm  gone,  — won't  you,  Sophy?  " 

The  poor  old  black  woman  could  not  stand  this 
question.  The  cold  minister  had  frozen  Elsie  until 
she  felt  as  if  nobody  cared  for  her  or  would  regret 
her,  —  and  her  question  had  betrayed  this  momentary 
feeling. 

"Don'  talk  so!  don'  talk  so,  darliuM"  she  cried, 
passionately.  "When  you  go,  Ol'  Sophy '11  go;  V 
where  you  go,  Ol'  Sophy  '11  go :  'n'  we  '11  both  go  t' 
th'  place  where  th'  Lord  takes  care  of  all  his  children, 
whether  their  faces  are  white  or  black.  Oh,  darlin', 
darlin' !  if  th'  Lord  should  let  me  die  fus',  you  shall 
fin'  all  ready  for  you  when  you  come  after  me.  On'y 
don'  go  'n'  leave  poor  OF  Sophy  all  'lone  in  th' 
world!" 

Helen  came  in  at  this  moment  and  quieted  the  old 
woman  with  a  look.  Such  scenes  were  just  what  were 
most  dangerous,  in  the  state  in  which  Elsie  was  lying : 


452  ELSIE   VENNER. 

but  that  is  one  of  the  ways  in  which  an  affectionate 
friend  sometimes  unconsciously  wears  out  the  life 
which  a  hired  nurse,  thinking  of  nothing  but  her  reg 
ular  duties  and  her  wages,  would  have  spared  from 
all  emotional  fatigue. 

The  change  which  had  come  over  Elsie's  disposition 
was  itself  the  cause  of  new  excitements.  How  was  it 
possible  that  her  father  could  keep  away  from  her, 
now  that  she  was  coming  back  to  the  nature  and  the 
very  look  of  her  mother,  the  bride  of  his  youth? 
How  was  it  possible  to  refuse  her,  when  she  said  to 
Old  Sophy,  that  she  should  like  to  have  her  minister 
come  in  and  sit  by  her,  even  though  his  presence 
might  perhaps  prove  a  new  source  of  excitement? 

But  the  Reverend  Doctor  did  come  and  sit  by  her, 
and  spoke  such  soothing  words  to  her,  words  of  such 
peace  and  consolation,  that  from  that  hour  she  was 
tranquil  as  never  before.  All  true  hearts  are  alike  in 
the  hour  of  need ;  the  Catholic  has  a  reserved  fund  of 
faith  for  his  fellow-creature's  trying  moment,  and  the 
Carvinist  reveals  those  springs  of  human  brotherhood 
and  charity  in  his  soul  which  are  only  covered  over  by 
the  iron  tables  inscribed  with  the  harder  dogmas  of 
his  creed.  It  was  enough  that  the  Reverend  Doctor 
knew  all  Elsie's  history.  He  could  not  judge  her  by 
any  formula,  like  those  which  have  been  moulded  by 
past  ages  out  of  their  ignorance.  He  did  not  talk 
with  her  as  if  she  were  an  outside  sinner  worse  than 
himself.  He  found  a  bruised  and  languishing  soul, 
and  bound  up  its  wounds.  A  blessed  office,  —  one 
which  is  confined  to  no  sect  or  creed,  but  which  good 
men  in  all  times,  under  various  names  and  with  vary 
ing  ministries,  to  suit  the  need  of  each  age,  of  each 
race,  of  each  individual  soul,  have  come  forward  to 
discharge  for  their  suffering  fellow-creatures. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  453 

After  this  there  was  little  change  in  Elsie,  except 
that  her  heart  beat  more  feebly  every  day,  —  so  that 
the  old  Doctor  himself,  with  all  his  experience,  could 
see  nothing  to  account  for  the  gradual  failing  of  the 
powers  of  life,  and  yet  could  find  no  remedy  which 
seemed  to  arrest  its  progress  in  the  smallest  degree. 

"Be  very  careful,"  he  said,  "that  she  is  not  allowed 
to  make  any  muscular  exertion.  Any  such  effort, 
when  a  person  is  so  enfeebled,  may  stop  the  heart  in  a 
moment;  and  if  it  stops,  it  will  never  move  again." 

Helen  enforced  this  rule  with  the  greatest  care. 
Elsie  was  hardly  allowed  to  move  her  hand  or  to 
speak  above  a  whisper.  It  seemed  to  be  mainly  the 
question  now,  whether  this  trembling  flame  of  life 
would  be  blown  out  by  some  light  breath  of  air,  or 
whether  it  could  be  so  nursed  and  sheltered  by  the 
hollow  of  these  watchful  hands  that  it  would  have  a 
chance  to  kindle  to  its  natural  brightness. 

—  Her  father  came  in  to  sit  with  her  in  the  evening. 
He  had  never  talked  so  freely  with  her  as  during  the 
hour  he  had  passed  at  her  bedside,  telling  her  little 
circumstances  of  her  mother's  life,  living  over  with 
her  all  that  was  pleasant  in  the  past,  and  trying  to 
encourage  her  with  some  cheerful  gleams  of  hope  for 
the  future.  A  faint  smile  played  over  her  face,  but 
she  did  not  answer  his  encouraging  suggestions.  The 
hour  came  for  him  to  leave  her  with  those  who  watched 
by  her. 

"Good-night,  my  dear  child,"  he  said,  and  stooping 
down,  kissed  her  cheek. 

Elsie  rose  by  a  sudden  effort,  threw  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  kissed  him,  and  said,  "Good-night,  my 
dear  father! " 

The  suddenness  of  her  movement  had  taken  him  by 


454  ELSIE  VENNER. 

surprise,  or  he  would  have  checked  so  dangerous  an 

\     /  effort.     It  was  too  late  now.     Her  arms  slid  away 

from  him  like  lifeless  weights,  —  her  head  fell  back 

upon  her  pillow,  —  a  long  sigh  breathed  through  her 

lips: 

^/'She   is   faint,"  said   Helen,   doubtfully;     "bring 
(me  the  hartshorn,  Sophy." 

J  The  old  woman  had  started  from  her  place,  and  was 
\  now  leaning  over  her,  looking  in  her  face,  and  listen 
ing  for  the  sound  of  her  breathing. 

"She's  dead!  Elsie's  dead!  Mydarlin"sdead!" 
'she  cried  aloud,  filling  the  room  with  her  utterance  of 
anguish. 

Dudley  Venner  drew  her  away  and  silenced  her 
with  a  voice  of  authority,  while  Helen  and  an  assistant 
plied  their  restoratives.  It  was  all  in  vain. 

The  solemn  tidings  passed  from  the  chamber  of 
death  through  the  family.  The  daughter,  the  hope  of 
that  old  and  honored  house,  was  dead  in  the  freshness 
of  her  youth,  and  the  home  of  its  solitary  representa 
tive  was  hereafter  doubly  desolate. 

A  messenger  rode  hastily  out  of  the  avenue.  A 
little  after  this  the  people  of  the  village  and  the  out 
lying  farm-houses  were  startled  by  the  sound  of  a  bell. 

One,  —  two,  —  three,  —  four,  — 

They  stopped  in  every  house,  as  far  as  the  waver 
ing  vibrations  reached,  and  listened 

five,  —  six,  —  seven,  — 

It  was  not  the  little  child  which  had  been  lying  so 
long  at  the  point  of  death;  that  could  not  be  more 
than  three  or  four  years  old 

eight,  —  nine,  —  ten,  —  and  so  on  to  fifteen,  — 


sixteen,  —  seventeen,  —  eighteen 


ELSIE   VENNER.  455 

The  pulsations  seemed  to  keep  on,  —  but  it  was  the 
brain,  and  not  the  bell,  that  was  throbbing  now. 

"Elsie  's  dead!  "  was  the  exclamation  at  a  hundred 
firesides. 

"Eighteen  year  old,"  said  old  Widow  Peake,  rising 
from  her  chair.  "Eighteen  year  ago  I  laid  two  gold 
eagles  on  her  mother's  eyes,  —  he  would  n't  have  any 
thing  but  gold  touch  her  eyelids,  — and  now  Elsie  's 
to  be  straightened,  —  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  her 
poor  sinful  soul! " 

Dudley  Venner  prayed  that  night  that  he  might  be 
forgiven,  if  he  had  failed  in  any  act  of  duty  or  kind 
ness  to  this  unfortunate  child  of  his,  now  freed  from 
all  the  woes  born  with  her  and  so  long  poisoning  her 
soul.  He  thanked  God  for  the  brief  interval  of  peace 
•which  had  been  granted  her,  for  the  sweet  communion 
they  had  enjoyed  in  these  last  days,  and  for  the  hope 
of  meeting  her  with  that  other  lost  friend  in  a  better 
world. 

Helen  mingled  a  few  broken  thanks  and  petitions 
with  her  tears :  thanks  that  she  had  been  permitted  to 
share  the  last  days  and  hours  of  this  poor  sister  in 
sorrow ;  petitions  that  the  grief  of  bereavement  might 
be  lightened  to  the  lonely  parent  and  the  faithful  old 
servant. 

Old  Sophy  said  almost  nothing,  but  sat  day  and 
night  by  her  dead  darling.  But  sometimes  her  an 
guish  would  find  an  outlet  in  strange  sounds,  some 
thing  between  a  cry  and  a  musical  note,  —  such  as 
none  had  ever  heard  her  utter  before.  These  were  old 
remembrances  surging  up  from  her  childish  days,  — 
coming  through  her  mother  from  the  cannibal  chief, 
her  grandfather,  —  death-wails,  such  as  they  sing  in 
the  mountains  of  Western  Africa,  when  they  see  the 


456  ELSIE  VENNER. 

fires  on  distant  hill-sides  and  know  that  their  own 
wives  and  children  are  undergoing  the  fate  of  captives. 

The  time  came  when  Elsie  was  to  be  laid  by  her 
mother  in  the  small  square  marked  by  the  white  stone. 

It  was  not  unwillingly  that  the  Reverend  Chauncy 
Fairweather  had  relinquished  the  duty  of  conducting 
the  service  to  the  Reverend  Doctor  Honeywood,  in  ac 
cordance  with  Elsie's  request.  He  could  not,  by  any 
reasoning,  reconcile  his  present  way  of  thinking  with 
a  hope  for  the  future  of  his  unfortunate  parishioner. 
Any  good  old  Roman  Catholic  priest,  born  and  bred  to 
his  faith  and  his  business,  would  have  found  a  loop 
hole  into  some  kind  of  heaven  for  her,  by  virtue  of  his 
doctrine  of  "invincible  ignorance,"  or  other  special 
proviso;  but  a  recent  convert  cannot  enter  into  the 
working  conditions  of  his  new  creed.  Beliefs  must 
be  lived  in  for  a  good  while,  before  they  accommodate 
themselves  to  the  soul's  wants,  and  wear  loose  enough 
to  be  comfortable. 

The  Reverend  Doctor  had  no  such  scruples.  Like 
thousands  of  those  who  are  classed  nominally  with  the 
despairing  believers,  he  had  never  prayed  over  a  de 
parted  brother  or  sister  without  feeling  and  express 
ing  a  guarded  hope  that  there  was  mercy  in  store  for 
the  poor  sinner,  whom  parents,  wives,  children,  bro 
thers  and  sisters  could  not  bear  to  give  up  to  utter  ruin 
without  a  word,  —  and  would  not,  as  he  knew  full 
well,  in  virtue  of  that  human  love  and  sympathy  which 
nothing  can  ever  extinguish.  And  in  this  poor  El 
sie's  history  he  could  read  nothing  which  the  tears  of 
the  recording  angel  might  not  wash  away.  As  the 
good  physician  of  the  place  knew  the  diseases  that  as 
sailed  the  bodies  of  men  and  women,  so  he  had  learned 
the  mysteries  of  the  sickness  of  the  soul. 


ELSIE    VENNER.  457 

So  many  wished  to  look  upon  Elsie's  face  once 
more,  that  her  father  would  not  deny  them ;  nay,  he 
was  pleased  that  those  who  remembered  her  living 
should  see  her  in  the  still  beauty  of  death.  Helen 
and  those  with  her  arrayed  her  for  this  farewell- view. 
All  was  ready  for  the  sad  or  curious  eyes  which  were 
to  look  upon  her.  There  was  no  painful  change  to  be 
concealed  by  any  artifice.  Even  her  round  neck  was 
left  uncovered,  that  she  might  be  more  like  one  who 
slept.  Only  the  golden  cord  was  left  in  its  place: 
some  searching  eye  might  detect  a  trace  of  that  birth 
mark  which  it  was  whispered  she  had  always  worn  a 
necklace  to  conceal. 

At  the  last  moment,  when  all  the  preparations  were 
completed,  Old  Sophy  stooped  over  her,  and,  with 
trembling  hand,  loosed  the  golden  cord.  She  looked 
intently,  for  some  little  space :  there  was  no  shade  nor 
blemish  where  the  ring  of  gold  had  encircled  her 
throat.  She  took  it  gently  away  and  laid  it  in  the 
casket  which  held  her  ornaments. 

"The  Lord  be  praised !  "  the  old  woman  cried,  aloud. 
"He  has  taken  away  the  mark  that  was  on  her;  she  's 
fit  to  meet  his  holy  angels  now!  " 

So  Elsie  lay  for  hours  in  the  great  room,  in  a  kind 
of  state,  with  flowers  all  about  her,  —  her  black  hair 
braided  as  in  life,  —  her  brows  smooth,  as  if  they  had 
never  known  the  scowl  of  passion,  —  and  on  her  lips 
the  faint  smile  with  which  she  had  uttered  her  last 
"  Good  -  night. "  The  young  girls  from  the  school 
looked  at  her,  one  after  another,  and  passed  on,  sob 
bing,  carrying  in  their  hearts  the  picture  that  would 
be  with  them  all  their  days.  The  great  people  of  the 
place  were  all  there  with  their  silent  sympathy.  The 
lesser  kind  of  gentry,  and  many  of  the  plainer  folk  of 


458  ELSIE   VENDER. 

the  village,  half-pleased  to  find  themselves  passing 
beneath  the  stately  portico  of  the  ancient  mansion- 
house,  crowded  in,  until  the  ample  rooms  were  over 
flowing.  All  the  friends  whose  acquaintance  we  have 
made  were  there,  and  many  from  remoter  villages  and 
towns. 

There  was  a  deep  silence  at  last.  The  hour  had 
come  for  the  parting  words  to  be  spoken  over  the  dead. 
The  good  old  minister's  voice  rose  out  of  the  stillness, 
subdued  and  tremulous  at  first,  but  growing  firmer 
and  clearer  as  he  went  on,  until  it  reached  the  ears  of 
the  visitors  who  were  in  the  far,  desolate  chambers, 
looking  at  the  pictured  hangings  and  the  old  dusty  por 
traits.  He  did  not  tell  her  story  in  his  prayer.  He 
only  spoke  of  our  dear  departed  sister  as  one  of  many 
whom  Providence  in  its  wisdom  has  seen  fit  to  bring 
under  bondage  from  their  cradles.  )It  was  not  for  us 
to  judge  them  by  any  standard  of  our  own.  He  who 
made  the  heart  alone  knew  the  infirmities  it  inherited 
or  acquired.  For  all  that  our  dear  sister  had  pre 
sented  that  was  interesting  and  attractive  in  her  char 
acter  we  were  to  be  grateful ;  for  whatever  was  dark 
or  inexplicable  we  must  trust  that  the  deep  shadow 
which  rested  on  the  twilight  dawn  of  her  being  might 
render  a  reason  before  the  bar  of  Omniscience ;  for  the 
grace  which  had  lightened  her  last  days  we  should  pour 
out  our  hearts  in  thankful  acknowledgment.  From 
the  life  and  the  death  of  this  our  dear  sister  we  should 
learn  a  lesson  of  patience  with  our  fellow-creatures  in 
their  inborn  peculiarities,  of  charity  in  judging  what 
seem  to  us  wilful  faults  of  character,  of  hope  and  trust, 
that,  by  sickness  or  affliction,  or  such  inevitable  disci 
pline  as  life  must  always  bring  with  it,  if  by  no  gentler 
means,  the  soul  which  had  been  left  by  Nature  to 


ELSIE    VENNER.  459 

wander  into  the  path  of  error  and  of  suffering  might 
be  reclaimed  and  restored  to  its  true  aim,  and  so  led 
on  by  divine  grace  to  its  eternal  welfare.  He  cldsed 
his  prayer  by  commending  each  member  of  the  afflicted 
family  to  the  divine  blessing. 

Then  all  at  once  rose  the  clear  sound  of  the  girls' 
voices,  in  the  sweet,  sad  melody  of  a  funeral  hymn, 
—  one  of  those  which  Elsie  had  marked,  as  if  prophet 
ically,  among  her  own  favorites. 

And  so  they  laid  her  in  the  earth,  and  showered 
down  flowers  upon  her,  and  filled  her  grave,  and  cov 
ered  it  with  green  sods.  By  the  side  of  it  was  another 
oblong  ridge,  with  a  white  stone  standing  at  its  head. 
Mr.  Bernard  looked  upon  it,  as  he  came  close  to  the 
place  where  Elsie  was  laid,  and  read  the  inscription,  — 

CATALINA 
WIFE  TO  DUDLEY  VENNER 

DIED 

OCTOBER   13TH   1840 
AGED  XX  YEARS 

A  gentle  rain  fell  on  the  turf  after  it  was  laid. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  a  long  and  dreary  autumnal 
storm,  a  deferred  "equinoctial,"  as  many  considered 
it.  The  mountain  streams  were  all  swollen  and  tur 
bulent,  and  the  steep  declivities  were  furrowed  in  every 
direction  by  new  channels.  It  made  the  house  seem 
doubly  desolate  to  hear  the  wind  howling  and  the  rain 
beating  upon  the  roofs.  The  poor  relation  who  was 
staying  at  the  house  would  insist  on  Helen's  remaining 
a  few  days :  Old  Sophy  was  in  such  a  condition,  that 
it  kept  her  in  continual  anxiety,  and  there  were  many 
cares  which  Helen  could  take  off  from  her. 


460  ELSIE  TENNER. 

The  old  black  woman's  life  was  buried  in  her  dar= 
ling's  grave.  She  did  nothing  but  moan  and  lament 
for  her.  At  night  she  was  restless,  and  would  get  up 
and  wander  to  Elsie's  apartment  and  look  for  her  and 
call  her  by  name.  At  other  times  she  would  lie  awake 
and  listen  to  the  wind  and  the  rain,  —  sometimes  with 
such  a  wild  look  upon  her  face,  and  with  such  sudden 
starts  and  exclamations,  that  it  seemed  as  if  she  heard 
spirit-voices  and  were  answering  the  whispers  of  un 
seen  visitants.  With  all  this  were  mingled  hints  of 
her  old  superstition,  —  forebodings  of  something  fear 
ful  about  to  happen,  —  perhaps  the  great  final  catas 
trophe  of  all  things,  according  to  the  prediction  cur 
rent  in  the  kitchens  of  Rockland. 

"Hark!  "  Old  Sophy  would  say,  —  "don'  you  hear 
th'  crackin'  'n'  th'  snappin'  up  in  Th'  Mountain,  'n' 
th'  rollin'  o'  th'  big  stones?  The'  's  somethin'  stirrin' 
among  th'  rocks;  I  hear  th'  soun'  of  it  in  th'  night, 
when  th'  wind  has  stopped  bio  win'.  Oh,  stay  by  me 
a  little  while,  Miss  Darlin' !  stay  by  me!  for  it 's  th' 
Las'  Day,  maybe,  that 's  close  on  us,  'n'  I  feel  as  if  I 
could  n'  meet  th'  Lord  all  alone !  " 

It  was  curious,  — but  Helen  did  certainly  recognize 
sounds,  during  the  lull  of  the  storm,  which  were  not 
of  falling  rain  or  running  streams,  —  short  snapping 
sounds,  as  of  tense  cords  breaking,  —  long  uneven 
sounds,  as  of  masses  rolling  down  steep  declivities. 
But  the  morning  came  as  usual;  and  as  the  others 
said  nothing  of  these  singular  noises,  Helen  did  not 
think  it  necessary  to  speak  of  them.  All  day  long  she 
and  the  humble  relative  of  Elsie's  mother,  who  had 
appeared  as  poor  relations  are  wont  to  in  the  great 
crises  of  life,  were  busy  in  arranging  the  disordered 
houss,  and  looking  over  the  various  objects  which 


ELSIE  VENNER.  461 

Elsie's  singular  tastes  had  brought  together,  to  dis 
pose  of  them  as  her  father  might  direct.  They  all 
met  together  at  the  usual  hour  for  tea.  One  of  the 
servants  came  in,  looking  very  blank,  and  said  to  the 
poor  relation,  — 

"The  well  is  gone  dry;  we  have  nothing  but  rain« 
water." 

Dudley  Venner's  countenance  changed;  he  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  went  to  assure  himself  of  the  fact,  and, 
if  he  could,  of  the  reason  of  it.  For  a  well  to  dry  up 
during  such  a  rain-storm  was  extraordinary,  —  it  was 
ominous. 

He  came  back,  looking  very  anxious. 

"Did  any  of  you  notice  any  remarkable  sounds  last 
night,"  he  said,  —  "or  this  morning?  Hark!  do  you 
hear  anything  now?  " 

They  listened  in  perfect  silence  for  a  few  moments. 
Then  there  came  a  short  cracking  sound,  and  two  or 
three  snaps,  as  of  parting  cords. 

Dudley  Venner  called  all  his  household  together. 

"We  are  in  danger  here,  as  I  think,  to-night,"  he 
said,  — -  "not  very  great  danger,  perhaps,  but  it  is  a 
risk  I  do  not  wish  you  to  run.  These  heavy  rains 
have  loosed  some  of  the  rocks  above,  and  they  may 
come  down  and  endanger  the  house.  Harness  the 
horses,  Elbridge,  and  take  all  the  family  away.  Miss 
Darley  will  go  to  the  Institute ;  the  others  will  pass 
the  night  at  the  Mountain  House.  I  shall  stay  here, 
myself :  it  is  not  at  all  likely  that  anything  will  come 
of  these  warnings ;  but  if  there  should,  I  choose  to  be 
here  and  take  my  chance." 

It  needs  little,  generally,  to  frighten  servants,  and 
they  were  all  ready  enough  to  go.  The  poor  relation 
was  one  of  the  timid  sort,  and  was  terribly  uneasy  to 


462  ELSIE  VENNER. 

be  got  out  of  the  house.  This  left  no  alternative,  of 
course,  for  Helen,  but  to  go  also.  They  all  urged 
upon  Dudley  Venner  to  go  with  them :  if  there  was 
danger,  why  should  he  remain  to  risk  it,  when  he 
sent  away  the  others? 

Old  Sophy  said  nothing  until  the  time  came  for  her 
to  go  with  the  second  of  Elbridge's  carriage-loads. 

"Come,  Sophy,"  said  Dudley  Venner,  "get  your 
things  and  go.  They  will  take  good  care  of  you  at  the 
Mountain  House ;  and  when  we  have  made  sure  that 
there  is  no  real  danger,  you  shall  come  back  at  once." 

"No,  Massa!  "  Sophy  answered.  "I  've  seen  Elsie 
into  th'  ground,  'n'  I  a'n't  goin'  away  to  come  back 
'n'  fin'  Massa  Venner  buried  under  th'  rocks.  My 
darlin'  's  gone;  'n'  now,  if  Massa  goes,  'n'  th'  ol' 
place  goes,  it 's  time  for  Ol'  Sophy  to  go,  too.  No, 
Massa  Venner,  we  '11  both  stay  in  th'  ol'  mansion  'n' 
wait  forth'  Lord!" 

Nothing  could  change  the  old  woman's  determina 
tion;  and  her  master,  who  only  feared,  but  did  not 
really  expect  the  long-deferred  catastrophe,  was  obliged 
to  consent  to  her  staying.  The  sudden  drying  of  the 
Well  at  such  a  time  was  the  most  alarming  sign ;  for  he 
remembered  that  the  same  thing  had  been  observed 
just  before  great  mountain- slides.  This  long  rain, 
too,  was  just  the  kind  of  cause  which  was  likely  to 
loosen  the  strata  of  rock  piled  up  in  the  ledges;  if 
the  dreaded  event  should  ever  come  to  pass,  it  would 
'  be  at  such  a  time. 

He  paced  his  chamber  uneasily  until  long  past  mid 
night.  If  the  morning  came  without  accident,  he 
meant  to  have  a  careful  examination  made  of  all  the 
rents  and  fissures  above,  of  their  direction  and  extent, 
and  especially  whether,  in  case  of  a  mountain-slide, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  463 

the  huge  masses  would  be  like  to  reach  so  far  to  the 
east  and  so  low  down  the  declivity  as  the  mansion. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  was  dozing  in  his 
chair.  Old  Sophy  had  lain  down  on  her  bed,  and  was 
muttering  in  troubled  dreams. 

All  at  once  a  loud  crash  seemed  to  rend  the  very 
heavens  above  them :  a  crack  as  of  the  thunder  that 
follows  close  upon  the  bolt,  —  a  rending  and  crashing 
as  of  a  forest  snapped  through  all  its  stems,  torn, 
twisted,  splintered,  dragged  with  all  its  ragged  boughs 
into  one  chaotic  ruin.  The  ground  trembled  under 
them  as  in  an  earthquake ;  the  old  mansion  shuddered 
so  that  all  its  windows  chattered  in  their  casements; 
the  great  chimney  shook  off  its  heavy  cap-stones,  which 
came  down  on  the  roof  with  resounding  concussions ; 
and  the  echoes  of  The  Mountain  roared  and  bellowed 
in  long  reduplication,  as  if  its  whole  foundations  were 
rent,  and  this  were  the  terrible  voice  of  its  dissolution. 

Dudley  Venner  rose  from  his  chair,  folded  his  arms, 
and  awaited  his  fate.  There  was  no  knowing  where 
to  look  for  safety;  and  he  remembered  too  well  the 
story  of  the  family  that  was  lost  by  rushing  out  of  the 
house,  and  so  hurrying  into  the  very  jaws  of  death. 

He  had  stood  thus  but  for  a  moment,  when  he  heard 
the  voice  of  Old  Sophy  in  a  wild  cry  of  terror :  — 

"It's  th'  Las'  Day!  It's  th'  Las'  Day!  The 
Lord  is  comin'  to  take  us  all!  " 

"Sophy!  "he  called;  but  she  did  not  hear  him  or 
heed  him,  and  rushed  out  of  the  house. 

The  worst  danger  was  over.  If  they  were  to  be  de 
stroyed,  it  would  necessarily  be  in  a  few  seconds  from 
the  first  thrill  of  the  terrible  convulsion.  He  waited 
in  awful  suspense,  but  calm.  Not  more  than  one  or 
two  minutes  could  have  passed  before  the  frightful 


464  ELSIE   VENNER 

tumult  and  all  its  sounding  echoes  had  ceased.  He 
called  Old  Sophy ;  but  she  did  not  answer.  He  went 
to  the  western  window  and  looked  forth  into  the  dark 
ness.  He  could  not  distinguish  the  outlines  of  the 
landscape,  but  the  white  stone  was  clearly  visible,  and 
by  its  side  the  new-made  mound.  Nay,  what  was  that 
which  obscured  its  outline,  in  shape  like  a  human  fig 
ure  ?  He  flung  open  the  window  and  sprang  through. 
It  was  all  that  there  was  left  of  poor  Old  Sophy, 
stretched  out  lifeless,  upon  her  darling's  grave. 

He  had  scarcely  composed  her  limbs  and  drawn  the 
sheet  over  her,  when  the  neighbors  began  to  arrive 
from  all  directions.  Each  was  expecting  to  hear  of 
houses  overwhelmed  and  families  destroyed;  but  each 
came  with  the  story  that  his  own  household  was  safe. 
It  was  not  until  the  morning  dawned  that  the  true 
nature  and  extent  of  the  sudden  movement  was  ascer 
tained.  A  great  seam  had  opened  above  the  long  cliff, 
and  the  terrible  Rattlesnake  Ledge,  with  all  its  enven 
omed  reptiles,  its  dark  fissures  and  black  caverns,  was 
buried  forever  beneath  a  mighty  incumbent  mass  of 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MR.    SILAS   PECKHAM  RENDERS   HIS   ACCOUNT. 

THE  morning  rose  clear  and  bright.  The  long 
storm  was  over,  and  the  calm  autumnal  sunshine  was 
now  to  return,  with  all  its  infinite  repose  and  sweet 
ness.  With  the  earliest  dawn  exploring  parties  were 
out  in  every  direction  along  the  southern  slope  of  The 
Mountain,  tracing  the  ravages  of  the  great  slide  and 
the  track  it  had  followed.  It  proved  to  be  not  so 
much  a  slide  as  the  breaking  off  and  falling  of  a  vast 
line  of  cliff,  including  the  dreaded  Ledge.  It  had 
folded  over  like  the  leaves  of  a  half -opened  book  when 
they  close,  crushing  the  trees  below,  piling  its  ruins  in 
a  glacis  at  the  foot  of  what  had  been  the  overhanging 
wall  of  the  cliff,  and  filling  up  that  deep  cavity  above 
the  mansion-house  which  bore  the  ill-omened  name  of 
Dead  Man's  Hollow.  This  it  was  which  had  saved 
the  Dudley  mansion.  The  falling  masses,  or  huge 
fragments  breaking  off  from  them,  would  have  swept 
the  house  and  all  around  it  to  destruction  but  for  this 
deep  shelving  dell,  into  which  the  stream  of  ruin  was 
happily  directed.  It  was,  indeed,  one  of  Nature's 
conservative  revolutions;  for  the  fallen  masses  made 
a  kind  of  shelf,  which  interposed  a  level  break  be 
tween  the  inclined  planes  above  and  below  it,  so  that 
the  nightmare-fancies  of •  the  dwellers  in  the  Dudley 
mansion,  and  in  many  other  residences  under  the 
shadow  of  The  Mountain,  need  not  keep  them  lying 


466  ELSIE   VENNER. 

awake  hereafter  to  listen  for  the  snapping  of  roots  and 
the  splitting  of  the  rocks  above  them. 

Twenty -four  hours  after  the  falling  of  the  cliff,  it 
seemed  as  if  it  had  happened  ages  ago.  The  new 
fact  had  fitted  itself  in  with  all  the  old  predictions, 
forebodings,  fears,  and  acquired  the  solidarity  belong 
ing  to  all  events  which  have  slipped  out  of  the  fingers 
of  Time  and  dissolved  in  the  antecedent  eternity. 

Old  Sophy  was  lying  dead  in  the  Dudley  mansion. 
If  there  were  tears  shed  for  her,  they  could  not  be  bit 
ter  ones;  for  she  had  lived  out  her  full  measure  of 
days,  and  gone  —  who  could  help  fondly  believing  it? 
— to  rejoin  her  beloved  mistress.  They  made  a  place 
for  her  at  the  foot  of  the  two  mounds.  It  was  thus 
she  would  have  chosen  to  sleep,  and  not  to  have 
wronged  her  humble  devotion  in  life  by  asking  to  lie 
at  the  side  of  those  whom  she  had  served  so  long  and 
faithfully.  There  were  very  few  present  at  the  simple 
ceremony.  Helen  Darley  was  one  of  these  few.  The 
old  black  woman  had  been  her  companion  in  all  the 
kind  offices  of  which  she  had  been  the  ministering 
angel  to  Elsie. 

After  it  was  all  over,  Helen  was  leaving  with  the 
rest,  when  Dudley  Vernier  begged  her  to  stay  a  little, 
and  he  would  send  her  back :  it  was  a  long  walk ;  be 
sides,  he  wished  to  say  some  things  to  her,  which  he 
had  not  had  the  opportunity  of  speaking.  Of  course 
Helen  could  not  refuse  him;  there  must  be  many 
thoughts  coming  into  his  mind  which  he  would  wish 
to  share  with  her  who  had  known  his  daughter  so  long 
and  been  with  her  in  her  last  days. 

She  returned  into  the  great  parlor  with  the  wrought 
cornices  and  the  medallion -portraits  on  the  ceiling. 

"I  am  now  alone  in  the  world,"  Dudley  Venner 
said. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  467- 

Helen  must  have  known  that  before  he  spoke.  But 
the  tone  in  which  he  said  it  had  so  much  meaning, 
that  she  could  not  find  a  word  to  answer  him  with. 
They  sat  in  silence,  which  the  old  tall  clock  counted 
out  in  long  seconds;  but  it  was  silence  which  meant 
more  than  any  words  they  had  ever  spoken. 

"Alone  in  the  world.  Helen,  the  freshness  of  my 
life  is  gone,  and  there  is  little  left  of  the  few  graces 
which  in  my  younger  days  might  have  fitted  me  to  win 
the  love  of  women.  Listen  to  me,  —  kindly,  if  you 
can;  forgive  me,  at  least.  Half  my  life  has  been 
passed  in  constant  fear  and  anguish,  without  any  near 
friend  to  share  my  trials.  My  task  is  done  now;  my 
fears  have  ceased  to  prey  upon  me ;  the  sharpness  of 
early  sorrows  has  yielded  something  of  its  edge  to 
time.  You  have  bound  me  to  you  by  gratitude  in  the 
tender  care  you  have  taken  of  my  poor  child.  More 
than  this.  I  must  tell  you  all  now,  out  of  the  depth 
of  this  trouble  through  which  I  am  passing.  I  have 
loved  you  from  the  moment  we  first  met;  and  if  my 
life  has  anything  left  worth  accepting,  it  is  yours. 
Will  you  take  the  offered  gift?  " 

Helen  looked  in  his  face,  surprised,  bewildered. 

"This  is  not  for  me,  — not  for  me,"  she  said.  "I 
am  but  a  poor  faded  flower,  not  worth  the  gathering 
of  such  a  one  as  you.  No,  no,  —  I  have  been  bred  to 
humble  toil  all  my  days,  and  I  could  not  be  to  you 
what  you  ought  to  ask.  I  am  accustomed  to  a  kind 
of  loneliness  and  self-dependence.  I  have  seen  no 
thing,  almost,  of  the  world,  such  as  you  were  born  to 
move  in.  Leave  me  to  my  obscure  place  and  duties; 
I  shall  at  least  have^eace ;  —  and  you  —  you  will 
surely  find  in  due  time  Some  one  better  fitted  by  Na- 

•e  and  training  to  make  you  happy." 


468  ELSIE   VENNER. 

"No,  Miss  Darley !"  Dudley  Vernier  said,  almost 
sternly.  "You  must  not  speak  to  a  man,  who  has 
lived  through  my  experiences,  of  looking  about  for 
a  new  choice  after  his  heart  has  once  chosen.  Say 
that  you  can  never  love  ni3 ;  say  that  I  have  lived  too 
long  to  share  your  young  life ;  say  that  sorrow  has  left 
nothing  in  me  for  Love  to  find  his  pleasure  in;  but 
do  not  mock  me  with  the  hope  of  a  new  affection  for 
some  unknown  object.  The  first  look  of  yours  brought 
me  to  your  side.  The  first  tone  of  your  voice  sunk 
into  my  heart.  From  this  moment  my  life  must  wither 
out  or  bloom  anew.  My  home  is  desolate.  Come 
under  my  roof  and  make  it  bright  once  more,  —  share 
my  life  with  me,  —  or  I  shall  give  the  halls  of  the  old 
mansion  to  the  bats  and  the  owls,  and  wander  forth 
alone  without  a  hope  or  a  friend!  " 

To  find  herself  with  a  man's  future  at  the  disposal 
of  a  single  word  of  hers !  —  a  man  like  this,  too,  with 
a  fascination  for  her  against  which  she  had  tried  to 
shut  her  heart,  feeling  that  he  lived  in  another  sphere 
than  hers,  working  as  she  was  for  her  bread  a  poor 
operative  in  the  factory  of  a  hard  master  and  jealous 
overseer,  the  salaried  drudge  of  Mr.  Silas  Peckham! 
Why,  she  had  thought  he  was  grateful  to  her  as  a 
friend  of  his  daughter ;  she  had  even  pleased  herself 
with  the  feeling  that  he  liked  her,  in  her  humble  place, 
as  a  woman  of  some  cultivation  and  many  sympathetic 
points  of  relation  with  himself ;  but  that  he  loved  her, 
—  that  this  deep,  fine  nature,  in  a  man  so  far  removed 
from  her  in  outward  circumstance,  should  have  found 
its  counterpart  in  one  whom  life  had  treated  so  coldly 
as  herself,  —  that  Dudley  Venner  should  stake  his  hap 
piness  on  a  breath  of  hers,  -  -poor  Helen  Darley's,  — 
it  was  all  a  surprise,  a  confusion,  a  kind  of  fear  not 


ELSIE   VENNER.  469 

wholly  fearful.  Ah,  me !  women  know  what  it  is,  — 
that  mist  over  the  eyes,  that  trembling  in  the  limbs, 
that  faltering  of  the  voice,  that  sweet,  shame-faced, 
unspoken  confession  of  weakness  which  does  not  wish 
to  be  strong,  that  sudden  overflow  in  the  soul  where 
thoughts  loose  their  hold  on  each  other  and  swim  sin= 
gle  and  helpless  in  the  flood  of  emotion,  —  women 
know  what  it  is  ! 

No  doubt  she  was  a  little  frightened  and  a  good  deal 
bewildered,  and  that  her  sympathies  were  warmly 
excited  for  a  friend  to  whom  she  had  been  brought  so 
near,  and  whose  loneliness  she  saw  and  pitied.  She 
lost  that  calm  self-possession  she  had  hoped  to  main  - 
tain. 

"If  I  thought  that  I  could  make  you  happy,  — if  I 
should  speak  from  my  heart,  and  not  my  reason,  —  I 
am  but  a  weak  woman,  —  yet  if  I  can  be  to  you  — 
What  can  I  say?" 

What  more  could  this  poor,  dear  Helen  say? 

"Elbridge,  harness  the  horses  and  take  Miss  Dar- 
ley  back  to  the  school." 

What  conversation  had  taken  place  since  Helen's 
rhetorical  failure  is  not  recorded  in  the  minutes  from 
which  this  narrative  is  constructed.  But  when  the 
man  who  had  been  summoned  had  gone  to  get  the 
carriage  ready,  Helen  resumed  something  she  had 
been  speaking  of. 

"Not  for  the  world.  Everything  must  go  on  just 
as  it  has  gone  on,  for  the  present.  There  are  proprie 
ties  to  be  consulted.  I  cannot  be  hard  with  you,  that 
out  of  your  very  affliction  has  sprung  this  —  this  — 
well  -  Hfepu  must  name  it  for  me,  —  but  the  world  will 
never  listen  to  explanations.  I  am  to  be  Helen  Darlcy, 


470  ELSIE    VENNER. 

lady  assistant  in  Mr.  Silas  Peckham's  school,  as  long 
as  I  see  fit  to  hold  my  office.  And  I  mean  to  attend 
to  my  scholars  just  as  before;  so  that  I  shall  have 
very  little  time  for  visiting  or  seeing  company.  I 
believe,  though,  you  are  one  of  the  Trustees  and  a 
Member  of  the  Examining  Committee ;  so  that,  if  you 
should  happen  to  visit  the  school,  I  shall  try  to  be 
civil  to  you." 

Every  lady  sees,  of  course,  that  Helen  was  quite 
right ;  but  perhaps  here  and  there  one  will  think  that 
Dudley  Venner  was  all  wrong,  —  that  he  was  too 
hasty,  —  that  he  should  have  been  too  full  of  his  recent 
grief  for  such  a  confession  as  he  has  just  made,  and 
the  passion  from  which  it  sprung.  Perhaps  they  do 
not  understand  the  sudden  recoil  of  a  strong  nature 
long  compressed.  Perhaps  they  have  not  studied  the 
mystery  of  allotropism  in  the  emotions  of  the  human 
heart.  Go  to  the  nearest  chemist  and  ask  him  to 
show  you  some  of  the  dark-red  phosphorus  which  will 
not  burn  without  fierce  heating,  but  at  500°,  Fahren 
heit,  changes  back  again  to  the  inflammable  substance 
we  know  so  well.  Grief  seems  more  like  ashes  than 
like,  fire ;  but  as  grief  has  been  love  once,  so  it  may 
become  love  again.  This  is  emotional  allotropism. 

Helen  rode  back  to  the  Institute  and  inquired  for 
Mr.  Peckham.  She  had  not  seen  him  during  the 
brief  interval  between  her  departure  from  the  man 
sion-house  and  her  return  to  Old  Sophy's  funeral. 
There  were  various  questions  about  the  school  she 
wished  to  ask. 

"Oh,  how's  your  haalth,  Miss  Darley?"  Silas 
began.  "We've  missed  you  consid'able.  Glad  to 
see  you  back  at  the  post  of  dooty.  Hope  the  Squire 
treated  you  hahnsomely,  —  liberal  pecooniary  compen* 


ELSIE  VENN:  fi 

sation, — hey?  A'n't  much  of  a  loser,  I  guess,  by 
acceptin'  his  propositions?" 

Helen  blushed  at  this  last  question,  as  if  Silas  had 
meant  something  by  it  beyond  asking  what  money  she 
had  received;  but  his  own  double-meaning  expression 
and  her  blush  were  too  nice  points  for  him  to  have 
taken  cognizance  of.  He  was  engaged  in  a  mental 
calculation  as  to  the  amount  of  the  deduction  he  should 
make  under  the  head  of  "demage  to  the  institootion," 
—  this  depending  somewhat  on  that  of  the  "pecoo- 
niary  compensation  "  she  might  have  received  for  her 
services  as  the  friend  of  Elsie  Venner. 

So  Helen  slid  back  at  once  into  her  routine,  the 
same  faithful,  patient  creature  she  had  always  been. 
But  what  was  this  new  light  which  seemed  to  have 
kindled  in  her  eyes?  What  was  this  look  of  peace, 
which  nothing  could  disturb,  which  smiled  serenely 
through  all  the  little  meannesses  with  which  the  daily 
life  of  the  educational  factory  surrounded  her,  — 
which  not  only  made  her  seem  resigned,  but  over 
flowed  all  her  features  with  a  thoughtful,  subdued  hap 
piness?  Mr.  Bernard  did  not  know, — perhaps  he 
did  not  guess.  The  inmates  of  the  Dudley  mansion 
were  not  scandalized  by  any  mysterious  visits  of  a 
veiled  or  unveiled  lady.  The  vibrating  tongues  of  the 
"female  youth  "  of  the  Institute  were  not  set  in  motion 
by  the  standing  of  an  equipage  at  the  gate,  waiting 
for  their  lady -teacher.  The  servants  at  the  mansion 
did  not  convey  numerous  letters  with  superscriptions 
in  a  bold,  manly  hand,  sealed  with  the  arms  of  a  well- 
known  house,  and  directed  to  Miss  Helen  Darley; 
nor,  on  the  other  hand,  did  Hiram,  the  man  from  the 
lean  streak  in  New  Hampshire,  carry  sweet-smelling, 
rose-hued,  many-layered,  criss-crossed,  fme-stitch-let- 


472  ELSIE  VENNER. 

tered  packages  of  note-paper  directed  to  Dudley  Ven« 
ner,  Esq.,  and  all  too  scanty  to  hold  that  incredible 
expansion  of  the  famous  three  words  which  a  woman 
was  born  to  say,  —  that  perpetual  miracle  which  as 
tonishes  all  the  go-betweens  who  wear  their  shoes  out 
in  carry  ing  a  woman's  infinite  variations  on  the  theme, 
"I  love  you." 

But  the  reader  must  remember  that  there  are  walks 
in  country-towns  where  people  are  liable  to  meet  by 
accident,  and  that  the  hollow  of  an  old  tree  has  served 
the  purpose  of  a  post-office  sometimes ;  so  that  he  has 
her  choice  (to  divide  the  pronouns  impartially)  of  vari 
ous  hypotheses  to  account  for  the  new  glory  of  happi 
ness  which  seemed  to  have  irradiated  our  poor  Helen's 
features,  as  if  her  dreary  life  were  awakening  in  the 
dawn  of  a  blessed  future.  • 

With  all  the  alleviations  which  have  been  hinted 
at,  Mr.  Dudley  Venner  thought  that  the  days  and  the 
weeks  had  never  moved  so  slowly  as  through  the  last 
period  of  the  autumn  that  was  passing.  Elsie  had 
been  a  perpetual  source  of  anxiety  to  him,  but  still  she 
had  been  a  companion.  He  could  not  mourn  for  her ; 
for  he  felt  that  she  was  safer  with  her  mother,  in  that 
world  where  there  are  no  more  sorrows  and  dangers, 
than  she  could  have  been  with  him.  But  as  he  sat  at 
his  window  and  looked  at  the  three  mounds,  the  lone 
liness  of  the  great  house  made  it  seem  more  like  the 
sepulchre  than  these  narrow  dwellings  where  his  be 
loved  and  her  daughter  lay  close  to  each  other,  side  by 
side,  —  Catalina,  the  bride  of  his  youth,  and  Elsie, 
the  child  whom  he  had  nurtured,  with  poor  Old  Sophy, 
who  had  followed  them  like  a  black  shadow,  at  their 
feet,  under  the  same  soft  turf,  sprinkled  with  the 
brown  autumnal  leaves.  It  was  not  good  for  him  to 


ELSIE   VENNER.  473 

be  thus  alone.     How  should  he  ever  live  through  the 
long  months  of  November  and  December? 

The  months  of  November  and  December  did,  in 
some  way  or  other,  get  rid  of  themselves  at  last,  bring 
ing  with  them  the  usual  events  of  village-life  and  a 
few  unusual  ones.  Some  of  the  geologists  had  been 
up  to  look  at  the  great  slide,  of  which  they  gave  those 
prolix  accounts  which  everybody  remembers  who  read 
the  scientific  journals  of  the  time.  The  engineers  re 
ported  that  there  was  little  probability  of  any  further 
convulsion  along  the  line  of  rocks  which  overhung  the 
more  thickly  settled  part  of  the  town.  The  naturalists 
drew  up  a  paper  on  the  "Probable  Extinction  of  the 
Crotalus  Durissus  in  the  Township  of  Rockland." 
The  engagement  of  the  Widow  Rowens  to  a  Little 
Millionville  merchant  was  announced,  —  "  Sudding 
'n'  onexpected,;'  Widow  Leech  said,  —  "waalthy,  or 
she  wouldn't  ha'  looked  at  him,  — fifty  year  old,  if 
he  is  a  day,  'n'  ha' n't  got  a  white  hair  in  his  head." 
The  Reverend  Chauncy  Fairweather  had  publicly  an 
nounced  that  he  was  going  to  join  the  Roman  Catholic 
communion,  —  not  so  much  to  the  surprise  or  conster 
nation  of  the  religious  world  as  he  had  supposed. 
Several  old  ladies  forthwith  proclaimed  their  intention 
of  following  him  ;  but,  as  one  or  two  of  them  were 
deaf,  and  another  had  been  threatened  with  an  attack 
of  that  mild,  but  obstinate  complaint,  dementia  se- 
nilis,  many  thought  it  was  not  so  much  the  force  of  his 
arguments  as  a  kind  of  tendency  to  jump  as  the  bell 
wether  jumps,  well  known  in  flocks  not  included  in 
the  Christian  fold.  His  bereaved  congregation  imme 
diately  began  pulling  candidates  on  and  off,  like  new 
boots,  on  trial.  Some  pinched  in  tender  places ;  some 
were  too  loose ;  some  were  too  square-toed;  some  were 


474  ELSIE   VENNER. 

too  coarse,  and  didn't  please;  some  were  too  thin, 
and  would  n't  last;  —  in  short,  they  couldn't  possibly 
find  a  fit.  At  last,  people  began  to  drop  in  to  hear 
old  Doctor  Honeywood.  They  were  quite  surprised 
to  find  what  a  human  old  gentleman  he  was,  and  went 
back  and  told  the  others,  that,  instead  of  being  a  case 
of  confluent  sectarianism,  as  they  supposed,  the  good 
old  minister  had  been  so  well  vaccinated  with  charita 
ble  virus  that  he  was  now  a  true,  open-souled  Chris 
tian  of  the  mildest  type.  The  end  of  all  which  was, 
that  the  liberal  people  went  over  to  the  old  minister 
almost  in  a  body,  just  at  the  time  that  Deacon  Shearer 
and  the  "Vinegar-Bible  "  party  split  off,  and  that  not 
long  afterwards  they  sold  their  own  meeting-house  to 
the  malecontents,  so  that  Deacon  Soper  used  often  to 
remind  Colonel  Sprowle  of  his  wish  that  "our  little 
man  and  him  [the  Reverend  Doctor]  would  swop  pul 
pits,"  and  tell  him  it  had  "pooty  nigh  come  trew." 
—  But  this  is  anticipating  the  -course  of  events,  which 
were  much  longer  in  coming  about ;  for  we  have  but 
just  got  through  that  terrible  long  month,  as  Mr. 
Dudley  Venner  found  it,  of  December. 

On  the  first  of  January,  Mr.  Silas  Peckham  was  in 
the  habit  of  settling  his  quarterly  accounts,  and  mak 
ing  such  new  arrangements  as  his  convenience  or  in 
terest  dictated.  New  Year  was  a  holiday  at  the  In 
stitute.  No  doubt  this  accounted  for  Helen's  being 
dressed  so  charmingly,  —  always,  to  be  sure  in  her 
own  simple  way,  but  yet  with  such  a  true  lady's  air, 
that  she  looked  fit  to  be  the  mistress  of  any  mansion 
in  the  land. 

She  was  in  the  parlor  alone,  a  little  before  noon, 
when  Mr.  Peckham  came  in. 

"  I  'm  ready  to  settle  my  accaount  with  you  now, 
Miss  Darley,"  said  Silas. 


ELSIE   VENNER.  475 

"As  you  please,  Mr.  Peckham,"  Helen  answered, 
Very  graciously. 

"Before  payin'  you  your  selary,"the  Principal  con 
tinued,  "I  wish  to  come  to  an  understandin'  as  to  the 
futur'.  I  consider  that  I  've  been  payin'  high,  very 
high,  for  the  work  you  do.  Women's  wages  can't  be 
expected  to  do  more  than  feed  and  clothe  'em,  as  a 
gineral  thing,  with  a  little  savin',  in  case  of  sickness, 
and  to  bury  'em,  if  they  break  daown,  as  all  of  'em 
are  liable  to  do  at  any  time.  If  I  a'n't  misinformed, 
you  not  only  support  yourself  out  of  my  establishment, 
but  likewise  relatives  of  yours,  who  I  don't  know  that 
I  'm  called  upon  to  feed  and  clothe.  There  is  a  young 
woman,  not  burdened  with  destitute  relatives,  has  sig 
nified  that  she  would  be  glad  to  take  your  doo'ties 
for  less  pecooniary  compensation,  by  a  consid'able 
amaount,  than  you  now  receive.  I  shall  be  willin', 
however,  to  retain  your  services  at  sech  redooced  rate 
as  we  shall  fix  upon,  —  provided  sech  redooced  rate  be 
as  low  or  lower  than  the  same  services  can  be  ob 
tained  elsewhere." 

"As  you  please,  Mr.  Peckham,"  Helen  answered, 
with  a  smile  so  sweet  that  the  Principal  (who  of  course 
had  trumped  up  this  opposition-teacher  for  the  occa 
sion)  said  to  himself  she  would  stand  being  cut  down 
a  quarter,  perhaps  a  half,  of  her  salary. 

"Here  is  your  accaount,  Miss  Darley,  and  the  bal~ 
ance  doo  you,"  said  Silas  Peckham,  handing  her  a 
paper  and  a  small  roll  of  infectious-flavored  bills  wrap= 
ping  six  poisonous  coppers  of  the  old  coinage. 

She  took  the  paper  and  began  looking  at  it.  She 
could  not  quite  make  up  her  mind  to  touch  the  fever 
ish  bills  with  the  cankering  coppers  in  them,  and  left 
them  airing  themselves  on  the  table. 

The  document  she  held  ran  as  follows :  — 


476  ELSIE   VENNER. 

Silas  Peckham,  Esq.,  Principal  of  the  Apollinean  Institute, 

In  Account  with  Helen  Darley,  Assist.  Teacher, 
Dr.  Cr. 

To  salary  for  quarter  By   Deduction   for  ab- 

ending  Jan.  1st,  @  sence,  1  week  3  days  $10.00 

$75  per  quarter  .     .  $75.00     "  Board,  lodging,  etc., 

for   10  days,  @    75 
cts.  per  day      ...       7.50 
"  Damage   to    Institu 
tion    by   absence    of 
teacher  from  duties, 
say      ......     25.00 

"  Stationery  furnished          43 
"  Postage-stamp      .     .         01 
"  Balance    due    Helen 
Darley 32.06 


$75.00  $75.00 

ROCKLAND,  Jan.  1st,  1859. 

Now  Helen  had  her  own  private  reasons  for  wishing 
to  receive  the  small  sum  which  was  due  her  at  this 
time  without  any  unfair  deduction,  —  reasons  which 
we  need  not  inquire  into  too  particularly,  as  we  may 
be  very  sure  that  they  were  right  and  womanly.  So, 
when  she  looked  over  this  account  of  Mr.  Silas  Peck- 
ham's,  and  saw  that  he  had  contrived  to  pare  down 
her  salary  to  something  less  than  half  its  stipulated 
amount,  the  look  which  her  countenance  wore  was  as 
near  to  that  of  righteous  indignation  as  her  gentle  fea 
tures  and  soft  blue  eyes  would  admit  of  its  being. 

"Why,  Mr.  Peckham,"  she  said,  "do  you  mean 
this?  If  I  am  of  so  much  value  to  you  that  you  must 
take  off  twenty -five  dollars  for  ten  days'  absence,  how 
is  it  that  my  salary  is  to  be  cut  down  to  less  than 
seventy-five  dollars  a  quarter,  if  I  remain  here?  " 

"I  gave  you  fair  notice,"  said  Silas.     "I  have  a 


ELSIE   VENNER.  477 

minute  of  it  I  took  down  immed'ately  after  the  inter- 
voo." 

He  lugged  out  his  large  pocket-book  with  the  strap 
going  all  round  it,  and  took  from  it  a  slip  of  paper 
which  confirmed  his  statement. 

"Besides,"  he  added,  slyly,  "I  presoom  you  have 
received  a  liberal  pecooniary  compensation  from  Squire 
Venner  for  nussin'  his  daughter." 

Helen  was  looking  over  the  bill  while  he  was  speak 
ing. 

''Board  and  lodging  for  ten  days,  Mr.  Peckham, 
—  whose  board  and  lodging,  pray?  " 

The  door  opened  before  Silas  Packham  could  an 
swer,  and  Mr.  Bernard  walked  into  the  parlor.  Helen 
was  holding  the  bill  in  her  hand,  looking  as  any 
woman  ought  to  look  who  has  been  at  once  wronged 
and  insulted. 

"The  last  turn  of  the  thumbscrew  !  "  said  Mr.  Ber 
nard  to  himself.  "What  is  it,  Helen?  You  look 
troubled." 

She  handed  him  the  account. 

He  looked  at  the  footing  of  it.  Then  he  looked  at 
the  items.  Then  he  looked  at  Silas  Peckham. 

At  this  moment  Silas  was  sublime.  He  was  so 
transcendently  unconscious  of  the  emotions  going  on 
in  Mr.  Bernard's  mind  at  the  moment,  that  he  had 
only  a  single  thought. 

"The  accaount's  correc'ly  cast,  I  presoom;  —  if 
the'  's  any  mistake  of  figgers  or  addin'  'em  up,  it  '11 
be  made  all  right.  Everything  's  accordin'  to  agree 
ment.  The  minute  written  immed'ately  after  the  in- 
tervoo  is  here  in  my  possession." 

Mr.  Bernard  looked  at  Helen.  Just  what  would 
have  happened  to  Silas  Peckham,  as  he  stood  then  and 


478  ELSIE    VENNER. 

there,  but  for  the  interposition  of  a  merciful  Provi 
dence,  nobody  knows  or  ever  will  know;  for  at  that 
moment  steps  were  heard  upon  the  stairs,  and  Hiram 
threw  open  the  parlor-door  for  Mr.  Dudley  Venner  to 
enter. 

He  saluted  them  all  gracefully  with  the  good-wishes 
of  the  season,  and  each  of  them  returned  his  compli 
ment,  —  Helen  blushing  fearfully,  of  course,  but  not 
particularly  noticed  in  her  embarrassment  by  more 
than  one. 

Silas  Peckham  reckoned  with  perfect  confidence  on 
his  Trustees,  who  had  always  said  what  he  told  them 
to,  and  done  what  he  wanted.  It  was  a  good  chance 
now  to  show  off  his  power,  and,  by  letting  his  instruc 
tors  know  the  unstable  tenure  of  their  offices,  make  it 
easier  to  settle  his  accounts  and  arrange  his  salaries. 
There  was  nothing  very  strange  in  Mr.  Venner 's  call 
ing;  he  was  one  of  the  Trustees,  and  this  was  New 
Year's  Day.  But  he  had  called  just  at  the  lucky 
moment  for  Mr.  Peckham's  object. 

"I  have  thought  some  of  makin'  changes  in  the  de 
partment  of  instruction,"  he  began.  "Several  accom 
plished  teachers  have  applied  to  me,  who  would  be 
glad  of  sitooations.  I  understand  that  there  never 
have  been  so  many  fust-rate  teachers,  male  and  fe 
male,  out  of  employment  as  doorin'  the  present  season. 
If  I  can  make  sahtisfahctory  arrangements  with  my 
present  corpse  of  teachers,  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so; 
otherwise  I  shell,  with  the  permission  of  the  Trustees, 
make  sech  noo  arrangements  as  circumstahnces  com 
pel." 

"You  may  make  arrangements  for  a  new  assistant 
in  my  department,  Mr.  Peckham,"  said  Mr.  Bernard, 
"at  once,  — this  day,  — this  hour.  I  am  not  safe  to 


ELSIE   VENNEtt.  479 

be  trusted  with  your  person  five  minutes  out  of  this 
lady's  presence, — of  whom  I  beg  pardon  for  this 
strong  language.  Mr.  Vernier,  I  must  beg  you,  as 
one  of  the  Trustees  of  this  Institution,  to  look  at  the 
manner  in  which  its  Principal  has  attempted  to  swindle 
this  faithful  teacher  whose  toils  and  sacrifices  and 
self-devotion  to  the  school  have  made  it  all  that  it  is, 
in  spite  of  this  miserable  trader's  incompetence.  Will 
you  look  at  the  paper  I  hold  ?  " 

Dudley  Venner  took  the  account  and  read  it 
through,  without  changing  a  feature.  Then  he  turned 
to  Silas  Peckham. 

"You  may  make  arrangements  for  a  new  assistant 
in  the  branches  this  lady  has  taught.  Miss  Helen 
Darley  is  to  be  my  wife.  I  had  hoped  to  have  an 
nounced  this  news  in  a  less  abrupt  and  ungraceful 
manner.  But  I  came  to  tell  you  with  my  own  lips 
what  you  would  have  learned  before  evening  from  my 
friends  in  the  village." 

Mr.  Bernard  went  to  Helen,  who  stood  silent,  with 
downcast  eyes,  and  took  her  hand  warmly,  hoping  she 
might  find  all  the  happiness  she  deserved.  Then  he 
turned  to  Dudley  Venner,  and  said,  — 

"She  is  a  queen,  but  has  never  found  it  out.  The 
world  has  nothing  nobler  than  this  dear  woman,  whom 
you  have  discovered  in  the  disguise  of  a  teacher, 
God  bless  her  and  you!  " 

Dudley  Venner  returned  his  friendly  grasp,  with 
out  answering  a  word  in  articulate  speech. 

Silas  remained  dumb  and  aghast  for  a  brief  space. 
Coming  to  himself  a  little,  he  thought  there  might 
have  been  some  mistake  about  the  items,  —  would  like 
to  have  Miss  Darley 's  bill  returned,  — would  make  it 
all  right,  —  had  no  ictae  that  Squire  Venner  had  a 


480  ELSIE   VENNER. 

special  int'rest  in  Miss  Darley,  —  was  sorry  he  had 
given  offence,  —  if  he  might  take  that  bill  and  look  it 
over  — 

"No.  Mr.  Peckham,"  said  Mr.  Dudley  Venner, 
"there  will  be  a  full  meeting  of  the  Board  next  week, 
and  the  bill,  and  such  evidence  with  reference  to  the 
management  of  the  Institution  and  the  treatment  of 
its  instructors  as  Mr.  Langdon  sees  fit  to  bring  for 
ward  will  be  laid  before  them." 

Miss  Helen  Darley  became  that  very  day  the  guest 
of  Miss  Arabella  Thornton,  the  Judge's  daughter. 
Mr.  Bernard  made  his  appearance  a  week  or  two  later 
at  the  Lectures,  where  the  Professor  first  introduced 
him  to  the  reader. 

He  stayed  after  the  class  had  left  the  room. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Langdon!  how  do  you  do?  Very  glad 
to  see  you  back  again.  How  have  you  been  since  our 
correspondence  on  Fascination  and  other  curious  sci 
entific  questions?" 

It  was  the  Professor  who  spoke,  —  whom  the  reader 
will  recognize  as  myself,  the  teller  of  this  story. 

"I  have  been  well,"  Mr.  Bernard  answered,  with  a 
serious  look  which  invited  a  further  question. 

"  I  hope  you  have  had  none  of  those  painful  or  dan 
gerous  experiences  you  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  when 
you  wrote ;  at  any  rate,  you  have  escaped  having  your 
obituary  written." 

"I  have  seen  some  things  worth  remembering. 
Shall  I  call  on  you  this  evening  and  tell  you  about 
them?" 

"I  shall  be  most  happy  to  see  you." 

This  was  the  way  in  which  I,  the  Professor,  be 
came  acquainted  with  some  of  the  leading  events  of 


ELSIE  VENNER.  481 

this  story.  They  interested  me  sufficiently  to  lead  me 
to  avail  myself  of  all  those  other  extraordinary  meth 
ods  of  obtaining  information  well  known  to  writers 
of  narrative. 

Mr.  Langdon  seemed  to  me  to  have  gained  in  seri 
ousness  and  strength  of  character  by  his  late  experi 
ences.  He  threw  his  whole  energies  into  his  studies 
with  an  effect  which  distanced  all  his  previous  efforts. 
Remembering  my  former  hint,  he  employed  his  spare 
hours  in  writing  for  the  annual  prizes,  both  of  which 
he  took  by  a  unanimous  vote  of  the  judges.  Those 
who  heard  him  read  his  Thesis  at  the  Medical  Com 
mencement  will  not  soon  forget  the  impression  made 
by  his  fine  personal  appearance  and  manners,  nor  the 
universal  interest  excited  in  the  audience,  as  he  read, 
with  his  beautiful  enunciation,  that  striking  paper 
entitled  "Unresolved  Nebula3  in  Vital  Science."  It 
was  a  general  remark  of  the  Faculty,  —  and  old  Doc 
tor  Kittredge,  who  had  come  down  on  purpose  to  hear 
Mr.  Langdon,  heartily  agreed  to  it,  —  that  there  had 
never  been  a  diploma  filled  up,  since  the  institution 
which  conferred  upon  him  the  degree  of  Doctor  Me 
dicines  was  founded,  which  carried  with  it  more  of 
promise  to  the  profession  than  that  which  bore  the 
name  of 


CHAPTEE  XXXII. 

CONCLUSION. 

MR.  BERNARD  LANGDON  had  no  sooner  taken  his 
degree,  than,  in  accordance  with  the  advice  of  one  of 
his  teachers  whom  he  frequently  consulted,  he  took  an 
office  in  the  heart  of  the  city  where  he  had  studied. 
He  had  thought  of  beginning  in  a  suburb  or  some 
remoter  district  of  the  city  proper. 

"No,"  said  his  teacher,  — to  wit,  myself,  —  "don't 
do  any  such  thing.  You  are  made  for  the  best  kind 
of  practice;  don't  hamper  yourself  with  an  outside 
constituency,  such  as  belongs  to  a  practitioner  of  the 
second  class.  When  a  fellow  like  you  chooses  his 
beat,  he  must  look  ahead  a  little.  Take  care  of  all 
the  poor  that  apply  to  you,  but  leave  the  half-pay 
classes  to  a  different  style  of  doctor,  —  the  people  who 
spend  one  half  their  time  in  taking  care  of  their  pa 
tients,  and  the  other  half  in  squeezing  out  their 
money.  Go  for  the  swell-fronts  and  south-exposure 
houses;  the  folks  inside  are  just  as  good  as  other 
people,  and  the  pleasantest,  on  the  whole,  to  take 
care  of.  They  must  have  somebody,  and  they  like  a 
gentleman  best.  Don't  throw  yourself  away.  You 
have  a  good  presence  and  pleasing  manners.  You 
wear  white  linen  by  inherited  instinct.  You  can  pro 
nounce  the  word  view.  You  have  all  the  elements  of 
success ;  go  and  take  it.  Be  polite  and  generous,  but 
don't  under  value  yourself.  You  will  be  useful,  at  any 


ELSIE   VENNER.  483 

rate ;  you  may  just  as  well  be  happy,  while  you  are 
about  it.  The  highest  social  class  furnishes  incom 
parably  the  best  patients,  taking  them  by  and  large. 
Besides,  when  they  won't  get  well  and  bore  you  to 
death,  you  can  send  'em  off  to  travel.  Mind  me  now, 
and  take  the  tops  of  your  sparrowgrass.  Somebody 
must  have  'em,  — why  shouldn't  you?  If  you  don't 
take  your  chance,  you  '11  get  the  butt-ends  as  a  matter 
of  course." 

Mr.  Bernard  talked  like  a  young  man  full  of  noble 
sentiments.  He  wanted  to  be  useful  to  his  fellow- 
beings.  Their  social  differences  were  nothing  to  him. 
He  would  never  court  the  rich,  —  he  would  go  where 
he  was  called.  He  would  rather  save  the  life  of  a  poor 
mother  of  a  family  than  that  of  half  a  dozen  old  gouty 
millionnaires  whose  heirs  had  been  yawning  and 
stretching  these  ten  years  to  get  rid  of  them. 

"Generous  emotions!"  I  exclaimed.  "Cherish 
'em;  cling  to  'em  till  you  are  fifty,  till  you  are  seventy, 
till  you  are  ninety !  But  do  as  I  tell  you,  —  strike 
for  the  best  circle  of  practice,  and  you  '11  be  sure  to 
get  it!" 

Mr.  Langdon  did  as  I  told  him,  —  took  a  genteel 
office,  furnished  it  neatly,  dressed  with  a  certain  ele 
gance,  soon  made  a  pleasant  circle  of  acquaintances, 
and  began  to  work  his  way  into  the  right  kind  of 
business.  I  missed  him,  however,  for  some  days,  not 
long  after  he  had  opened  his  office.  On  his  return,  he 
told  me  he  had  been  up  at  Kockland,  by  special  invi 
tation,  to  attend  the  wedding  of  Mr.  Dudley  Venner 
and  Miss  Helen  Darley.  He  gave  me  a  full  account 
of  the  ceremony,  which  I  regret  that  I  cannot  relate  in 
full.  "Helen  looked  like  an  angel,"  —  that,  I  am 


484  ELSIE   VENNER. 

sure,  was  one  of  his  expressions.  As  for  her  dress,  I 
should  like  to  give  the  details,  but  am  afraid  of  com 
mitting  blunders,  as  men  always  do,  when  they  under 
take  to  describe  such  matters.  White  dress,  anyhow, 

—  that  I  am  sure  of,  —  with  orange-flowers,  and  the 
most  wonderful  lace  veil  that  was  ever  seen  or  heard 
of.     The  Reverend  Doctor  Honeywood  performed  the 
ceremony,  of  course.    The  good  people  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  they  ever  had  had  any  other  minister,  — 
except  Deacon  Shearer  and  his  set   of  malcontents, 
who  were  doing  a  dull  business  in  the  meeting-house 
lately  occupied  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Fairweather. 

"Who  was  at  the  wedding?  " 

"Everybody,  pretty  much.  They  wanted  to  keep 
it  quiet,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  Married  at  church. 
Front  pews,  old  Dr.  Kittredge  and  all  the  mansion- 
house  people  and  distinguished  strangers,  —  Colonel 
Sprowle  and  family,  including  Matilda's  young  gen 
tleman,  a  graduate  of  one  of  the  fresh-water  colleges, 

—  Mrs.  Pickins  (late  Widow  Rowens)  and  husband, 

—  Deacon  Soper  and  numerous  parishioners.     A  little 
nearer  the  door,  Abel,  the  Doctor's  man,  and  Elbridge, 
who  drove  them  to  church  in  the  family -coach.    Father 
Fairweather,  as  they  all  call  him  now,  came  in  late 
with  Father  McShane." 

"And  Silas  Peckham?" 

"Oh,  Silas  had  left  The  School  and  Rockland.  Cut 
up  altogether  too  badly  in  the  examination  instituted 
by  the  Trustees.  Had  removed  over  to  Tamarack, 
and  thought  of  renting  a  large  house  and  '  farming ' 
the  town -poor." 

Some  time  after  this,  as  I  was  walking  with  a  young 
friend  along  by  the  swell-fronts  and  south-exposures, 


ELSIE   VENNER.  485 

whom  should  I  see  but  Mr.  Bernard  Langdon,  looking 
remarkably  happy,  and  keeping  step  by  the  side  of  a 
very  handsome  and  singularly  well-dressed  young  lady  ? 
He  bowed  and  lifted  his  hat  as  we  passed. 

"Who  is  that  pretty  girl  my  young  doctor  has  got 
there?  "  I  said  to  my  companion. 

"Who  is  that?  "  he  answered.  "You  don't  know? 
Why,  that  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  Miss  Letitia 
Forrester,  daughter  of  —  of  —  why,  the  great  banking- 
firm,  you  know,  Bilyuns  Brothers  &  Forrester.  Got 
acquainted  with  her  in  the  country,  they  say.  There  's 
a  story  that  they  're  engaged,  or  like  to  be,  if  the  firm 
consents." 

"Oh "I  said. 

I  did  not  like  the  look  of  it  in  the  least.  Too 
young,  —  too  young.  Has  not  taken  any  position  yet. 
No  right  to  ask  for  the  hand  of  Bilyuns  Brothers  & 
Co.'s  daughter.  Besides,  it  will  spoil  him  for  prac 
tice,  if  he  marries  a  rich  girl  before  he  has  formed 
habits  of  work. 

I  looked  in  at  his  office  the  other  day.  A  box  of 
white  kids  was  lying  open  on  the  table.  A  three-cor 
nered  note,  directed  in  a  very  delicate  lady's-hand, 
was  distinguishable  among  a  heap  of  papers.  I  was 
just  going  to  call  him  to  account  for  his  proceedings, 
when  he  pushed  the  three-cornered  note  aside  and  took 
up  a  letter  with  a  great  corporation -seal  upon  it.  He 
had  received  the  offer  of  a  professor's  chair  in  an 
ancient  and  distinguished  institution. 

"Pretty  well  for  three-and-twenty,  my  boy,"  I  said. 
"I  suppose  you  '11  think  you  must  be  married  one  of 
these  days,  if  you  accept  this  office." 

Mr.  Langdon  blushed.  — There  had  been  stories 
about  him,  he  knew.  His  name  had  been  mentioned 


486  ELSIE   VENNER. 

in  connection  with  that  of  a  very  charming  young 
lady.  The  current  reports  were  not  true.  He  had 
met  this  young  lady,  and  been  much  pleased  with  her, 
in  the  country,  at  the  house  of  her  grandfather,  the 
Reverend  Doctor  Honeywood,  —  you  remember  Miss 
Letitia  Forrester,  whom  I  have  mentioned  repeatedly? 
On  coming  to  town,  he  found  his  country-acquaintance 
in  a  social  position  which  seemed  to  discourage  his 
continued  intimacy.  He  had  discovered,  however, 
that  he  was  a  not  unwelcome  visitor,  and  had  kept  up 
friendly  relations  with  her.  But  there  was  no  truth 
in  the  current  reports,  —  none  at  all. 

Some  months  had  passed,  after  this  visit,  when  I 
happened  one  evening  to  stroll  into  a  box  in  one  of 
the  principal  theatres  of  the  city.  A  small  party  sat 
on  the  seats  before  me :  a  middle-aged  gentleman  and 
his  lady,  in  front,  and  directly  behind  them  my  young 
doctor  and  the  same  very  handsome  young  lady  I  had 
seen  him  walking  with  on  the  sidewalk  before  the 
swell-fronts  and  south-exposures.  As  Professor 
Langdon  seemed  to  be  very  much  taken  up  with  his 
companion,  and  both  of  them  looked  as  if  they  were 
enjoying  themselves,  I  determined  not  to  make  my 
presence  known  to  my  young  friend,  and  to  withdraw 
quietly  after  feasting  my  eyes  with  the  sight  of  them 
for  a  few  minutes. 

"It  looks  as  if  something  might  come  of  it,"  I  said 
to  myself.  At  that  moment  the  young  lady  lifted 
her  arm  accidentally  in  such  a  way  that  the  light  fell 
upon  the  clasp  of  a  chain  which  encircled  her  wrist. 
My  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  I  read  upon  the  clasp,  in 
sharp-cut  Italic  letters,  E.  V.  They  were  tears  at 


ELSIE   VENNER.  487 

once  of  sad  remembrance  and  of  joyous  anticipation ; 
for  the  ornament  on  which  I  looked  was  the  double 
pledge  of  a  dead  sorrow  and  a  living  affection.  It 
was  the  golden  bracelet,  —  the  parting-gift  of  Elsie 
Venner« 


